


An Intervention of Fate

by NocturnalFriend



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cultural Differences, Dark, Elves, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, death of dwarves, hurt!vanir, i don't know please don't kill me, possible trigger warning, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2020-12-16 07:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21032228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NocturnalFriend/pseuds/NocturnalFriend
Summary: ELDEST AU: Dragon magic does a lot more than just heal Eragon. Facing Murtagh on the burning plains has far more consequences than they could have predicted.Eragon x Vanir, the others mostly canon.





	1. Blood Oath

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who is giving this a chance. I wrote the first drafts literally years ago, and no, this is not the original plot from then... more a polished version that's actually readable and hopefully making a lot more sense, since I used the original text from the book (the german edition, so I translated it myself into english when needed) to follow the canon plotline on some parts more accurately.
> 
> Anyway, I always found it disappointing that Paolini wasn't giving us a more detailed backstory for his less important characters. So, yeah. This one's going to be a big project of mine, playing in this sandbox. Let's begin then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all who are reading this, I rewrote the chapter and will change chapter two as well, since I couldn't any longer be content with how it was originally. The most changes are in the way Eragon and Vanir react/behave, but it isn't that relevant now if you've already read it before.
> 
> Just less cringe.
> 
> Rewritten: 21 September 2020

**CHAPTER ONE - BLOOD OATH**

_He still remembered it, the dancing, the vivid colours, the way the magic had sparked in the air and how his fate opened another path to him, a path laden with self-discovery and self-reflection. For all its trials and grief, he couldn’t imagine what would have happened had the dragons of old decided different that night…_

**ERAGON**

Magic was a wonderful thing, Eragon thought, standing in a circle with the others celebrating through the night. It was the third day, or night. Time was hard to keep track of. The moon had come and gone and come again. It was a half disc in the dark sky now.

In the centre of the circle were two female elves who shed their garments, identical white cloaks hold by an ornate clasp. The dragon painted on their naked skin was glowing in vivid detail with every scale a different colour or shade. And they started dancing, a stomping of feet underlined by the sound of drums. It continued with twirling movements around each other, the dragon tattoo coming alive by their dance. Other instruments followed the drumming, flutes and harps. The elves were dancing and dancing, the dragon circling them like it was flying.

The song the two weaved to the melody was like a ringing bell, the elven magic taking hold of the participating crowd and Eragon couldn’t make sense of separate words anymore as he, too, got swayed by it.

Everyone was singing along. Eragon had no idea how but the words came to his lips, his voice joining the others and filling the air with sound. The dragons were humming; the sound deep and heard over the bright elven voices, accompanying the melody.

The dragon was flying around the two elven dancers; they were giving it life as they twirled round and round, ever faster. Eragon knew at some point not what he saw. As it let out a stream of fire, he followed the majestic creature with his eyes, saw it fly up and above the crowd, always connected to the dancing twins with its tail tip. It roared at the night sky, glided down and touched every elf with its ghostly wing before it looked Eragon dead in the eye.

There was a moment when time seemed to stand still.

Eragon felt a mind touch his own, so unlike anything he had felt before.Then came the images, flickering before his mind’s eye and too fast to comprehend. A streak of blue scales, a glitter of gold.

_This is our gift to you, so that you can do what is needed. Forgive us, for we cannot change the outcome, only the consequences._

Was it one voice, or many? The dragon touched him upon his Gedwëy Ignasia – his hand was reaching towards it - and it was like an electrical shock to his system. His whole body was burning as he let oblivion take him.

*

Awareness came back to him slowly and in stages. At first, he could feel Saphira’s mind against his own, a comforting warmth tinged blue like her scales. It made him think of the blue skies during summer in Carvahall, more carefree days spent hunting in the Spine. Life had been about working on their uncle’s farm, helping their small family to survive through winter, but it hadn’t been like his life now.

Eragon missed his childhood, the old pain of losing Garrow a small stab of pain in his chest. He’d mostly overcome the worst of the memory and could reflect on the nicer ones, winters spent together in their home. Garrow teaching him to hunt. Teasing Roran about his crush on Katrina.

The dragon rider sighed, his mind returning to the present at the feeling of another presence. It was like a calm river, different colours and the faint sense of a melody behind it all.

It shouldn’t be there. His mind was still shielded from anyone foreign to him. Only Saphira was meant to be there since she was his dragon.

Furrowing his brow, he opened his eyes to be greeted by the ceiling of the treehouse he shared with her. It startled him how clear everything was despite the darkness. He could see the intricate lines in the wood above, still different to how it would look in daylight, but he shouldn’t see it this clear.

Aware of his improved sight made him suddenly hyper aware of his other senses. The fabric of the sheets told him he was on his bed, the fresh air coming in from the dragon entry indicated that it wasn’t closed because Saphira wasn’t here.

Using his connection to the dragoness, he asked her: _How long was I unconscious?_

The answer came swift, like she had waited for him to wake up and ask her.

_No more than a couple of hours. The elves were frantic. Nobody knew what to do. After Oromis made sure you were fine they carried you back. I would have gone with you, but they needed me and Glaedr here._

She shared her view of what had happened. Eragon felt it the moment he’d connected to the dragon spirits, through her memory. She’d been just as overwhelmed by it, but she hadn’t fainted like him. Her worry at him was visible.

_I feel fine, _he assuaged her. Her mindscape rippled like she wasn’t quite believing his words, but she didn’t say anything in reply.

_Eragon, there’s something I need to tell you. You weren’t the only one who was affected by the dragon spirit._

He sat up and looked for his boots. His clothes were still the same he’d worn to the blood oath ceremony. _I wasn’t?_

_No. There was someone…_

_Saphira. What aren’t you telling me? _He asked. Eragon was now outside the tree house, slowly walking down the stairs winding around the trunk of the old tree the house was grown from. She was silent for a long time and Eragon would have repeated his question if she hadn’t answered him then.

_Remember the elf you train with every day?_

_Vanir._

_He collapsed same as you, but they weren’t immediately flocking to him in worry. They brought him to the Tialdarí Hall by order from Izlandadi._

Why would they bring Vanir there? He asked but got only an ‘I don’t know either’ from his partner. 

Whatever, it wasn’t like he cared. He made his way back to the Menoa tree, where the celebrations were still ongoing. His feet led him all the way to Saphira, until he saw a familiar shape through the trees. Arya. She was alone and his heart pounded with the beat of the forest around him.

_Little one, don’t…_

Eragon ignored Saphira’s soft but warning tone.

He would regret it later when he had to deal with Arya’s frosty rejection. Her words had cut deep into his heart, his thundering heart now from his dreams being shattered. She didn’t return his feelings and it hurt. It hurt so much, he thought.

His soul thought comfort, and he wasn’t really thinking about it when his steps through the forest led him somewhere. Maybe he should have. As it was, he came to a halt at the tree house, where someone else was leaning against the tree.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the elf accusingly. He’d recognised Vanir instantly.

Vanir had never been to the tree house since it was for visiting dragon riders. Of course, he must have known where it was, but Eragon wondered why he would visit him now. Obviously, he’d been waiting for the rider to show up.

“I want to know what happened. What did you do?” Vanir asked. His gaze stayed on Eragon while he waited for an answer. Too bad for him, because Eragon had none. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have told the elf. Eragon felt a sudden spike of anger, and it wasn’t his.

“I should have known this would lead to nothing.”

The elf stood, and now showed clear signs of annoyance. Eragon felt it simultaneously in his mind. A foreboding feeling started to form inside him as he had an idea of what must have happened, why they were both affected.

He had to be sure, as much as it made him feel sick to his stomach doing this. He sought the mental presence he’d felt earlier and spoke inside his mind to it.

_Then why are you even here?!_

Eragon made sure to convey his annoyance with the words. Vanir gave a startled look. All hopes to have been wrong vanished with it.

“I’m not sure.”, he answered, looking spooked. Eragon felt Vanir shield his mind, but the connection didn’t lessen. It was still as strong as before. From Vanir’s grimace he must have noticed too.

Eragon wasn’t in the right mind to deal with this. He wanted to be alone, get over his broken heart for Arya, and maybe get some sleep.

Vanir’s sudden panic over their discovered bond – because it felt just like his bond with Saphira – was not helping. 

The cold dislike was easy to discern among other more complex feelings. Thoughts were shielded from him, but emotions were flowing back and forth between them like a river. Vanir would be the last person Eragon would want inside his head and now it seemed they were forced to such a fate.

Eragon was still horrified by discovering the presence of the elf inside his mind. It wasn’t panic, he told himself. 

Channelling his fear into anger was the easiest, and Eragon grabbed the elf by his tunic, bark pressing into Vanir’s back as Eragon held him there, his new strength making the elf freeze in shock.

“You stay out of my mind!” 

“How do you think I can stay out of your mind? In case you haven’t noticed, our shields do _nothing_!” Vanir sneered. His glare was making his eyes flash dangerously and Eragon didn’t know why he noticed the intense golden colour they were.

Eragon couldn’t forgive this invasion of his privacy. With Saphira it had felt natural, like she belonged. Vanir wasn’t somebody he wanted anywhere near him. 

Eragon glared, holding back the urge to lash out and hit him for sounding like he was better than him even now. Though, he couldn’t stop the fear he felt at the prospect of being forever tied to this arrogant elf.

His mental barriers were crumbling to dust as the whole situation seemed to become a terrifying reality around him. He let go of the other, taking a step back, away from _him_.

Vanir still glared, but there was something else in that gaze now and Eragon couldn’t look at the elf anymore, his hands clenched at his sides. The dragon rider needed to be away. Away from the elf in front of him whose eyes held the most emotions he’d ever seen in any elf so far. Bastard, he thought to himself. His whole body was tense, his mental barriers nothing but dust, his emotions clear as day to Vanir and he hated it. He hated it so much.

“Stay out of my mind.” He whispered harshly.

“I can’t block you out, you idiot rider! Neither seems it to work for you- “

“Stop prying then!” he hissed. Golden orbs narrowed. The darkness around them made them shine even brighter. It was something he couldn’t not notice, it seemed.

“Why would I want to, even.” Vanir replied mockingly, but his emotions betrayed him, because they didn’t quite match his words.

Eragon let out a sound of frustration, his anger making him lash out and shoving the elf back against the tree, hard. Vanir’s surprised exclamation was chocked off when his back hit the rough bark. Eragon ignored the twinge between his own shoulders in favour of making Vanir feel how angry he was and relished in the flinch he got when he shoved his anger over the link.

“I can’t stand you. You are arrogant and always shoving in my face why I’m below you!”

The rider felt Saphira who’d been silent until now, trying to make him be reasonable. He ignored her in favour of focusing on the elf whose mere presence aggravated him now.

“Whatever have I done to you?!” he shouted.

Vanir’s eyes strayed to the side, before settling on the rider again. His shoulders drawn up, he looked ready to flee into the night. Eragon didn’t feel any guilt for what he’d done. The question was one he’d wanted to ask since Vanir had begun taunting him during their spars.

“…nothing. You have done nothing.” Vanir said. He sounded like he’d just realized this. There was silence, loaded with the anger Eragon still held, and the stunned elf who suddenly seemed less ready to fight and more willing to flee from the situation.

“I need- I need time to think about this.” Vanir murmured, and before Eragon could hold him back, he was gone.

_What should I do? _He asked his dragon. Saphira was just as confused as him. _Sleep_, she said gently. _Tomorrow you’ll be able to talk to him._

_I’m not sure I want to._

His mind was tired, the anger had left him as soon as the other was out of sight. Emotions not his own were coming through the bond they now shared, and he couldn’t stop experiencing secondhand confusion, nervousness, restlessness. A bundle of a complex feeling he couldn’t discern because it was just a flash, gone as fast as it came. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get a headache from it.

_I don’t think you have a choice, Eragon. This seems to affect you both and you better talk, or it could become a problem later._

_It’s already a problem._


	2. Starless Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten 21 September 2020

**2 STARLESS FUTURE**

**ERAGON**

Eragon awoke in the morning to a pounding headache. He groaned as he turned around to block out the light. 

_It’s not the end of the world, little one._

He gave Saphira a mental shake of the head. She knew how he felt about this, but she didn’t understand. For once, it hurt how different their views were on things.

There was simply no chance he was going to talk to the arrogant elf, not after last night. Maybe he should instead apologize to Arya. His words seemed stupid in the light of day, now that he had a clearer head. She hadn’t given him any indication she was interested in him; he’d hoped for too much it seemed.

_She could have been gentler with you._

_No. I needed her to be clear. I came onto her and she outright told me that she had no feelings for me._

_It still isn’t right. She hurt you._

Eragon patted her scales, warm and smooth under his hand. Saphira bowed her head to look at him, making sure he wasn’t lying when he assured her that he would be alright. Eragon didn’t think he was lying. Maybe it hurt right now, but it wouldn’t be like this forever, right? He wished above all for his friendship with the female elf to be salvageable.

*

Arya wasn’t home. She had left the forest at the break of dawn, as he was told by the elves wandering around Tiandali Hall when he asked politely. Eragon left soon after, not sure why he should linger when she wasn’t there.

Oromis hadn’t told him if lessons would be today, so Eragon decided to follow his normal routine. His feet carried him to the training field, gait smooth and free from the scar on his back. He’d stood before the small mirror piece this morning, looking at his smooth skin where there were no longer scars, the slightly more angular shape of his jaw, especially the pointed tips of his no longer round ears. The blood oath had left behind more discoveries than his bond to a certain infuriating elf.

He’d noticed before of course, how he was now stronger and how his senses had heightened to that of an elf’s. It seemed like the transition of several decades of being a dragon rider had taken the span of one night.

The field was occupied by Orik and a few elves. Vanir was nowhere in sight and Eragon couldn’t feel his presence nearby. At first, Eragon simply used the time to train his archery. His strength was too much for his simple wooden bow and the splinters of it dug into his hands when he overdid it. Mournfully he put the pieces into a satchel on his belt. It had been his since he had learned how to use a bow and he wasn’t willing to part with it.

Half an hour passed, and Vanir still didn’t show up. Eragon frowned, but someone else offered to spar with him. His mood was lifted by discovering the agility and speed with which he could now move again, changing from one stance to another as he fought her. She held the same grace as Arya, every step a calculated move on her part as she didn’t hold back. Not once could she break through Eragon’s defence. Finally, Eragon pressed Zar’roc against her throat, careful not to cut her. She yielded.

Eragon stepped back and lowered the sword. She bowed in acknowledgement, courteous.

„It was an honour to spar with you shur’tugal. “she said. Her behaviour was nothing short of cordial and genuine.

Orik clapped from his position and seemed equally happy to have seen the action. Still the absence of Vanir was like an itch in the back of his head.

It didn’t let him sleep peacefully at night and he found himself asking around Elesméra where the elf could be. He got different answers every time.

Apparently, he’d talked to Arya before she’d gone back to the Varden. Then he’d been seen wandering around the northern outskirts of the city. Sometimes he got the answer of Vanir seen climbing trees, which wasn’t unusual in the forest city. Another was telling him the arrogant elf had walked through the gardens at night. Sometimes he seemed to vanish simply for a whole day.

Frowning, Eragon had followed the directions of one elf to a clearing with stone arches and crumbled pillars. Dwarven architecture long overgrown by nature as it was reclaimed. The remains of old civilization before the elves had claimed the forest for themselves. Here, he found the elusive elf. He leaned against a pillar that created an archway overhead. The spindly design was decorated with moss and ivy. The elf had a small book in his lap where he drew something that looked a lot like wildflowers to Eragon with a thin piece of charcoal. He looked deeply invested in his task and hadn’t noticed the intruder yet, despite their always present connection.

Eragon knew his behaviour was immoral and backhanded as he drew Zar’roc. The blade made a metallic sound being drawn that made the elf look up and notice him. His eyes were slits as he narrowed them, laid his book aside, and stood up.

“Vanir.” Eragon growled, his eyes flashing. „You’re owing me a spar. “

„And I sent Aurora. I owe you nothing shurtugal. Your whining doesn’t change that. “

The words angered the rider. He didn’t wait for his opponent to draw his blade and charged. It was the fact that Vanir was such an excellent duellist that he blocked the red blade with his own. His wide eyes told how shocked he was though. Eragon smirked. Yes, look at me Vanir. I’m no longer the simple human you could taunt every morning. I no longer bear a crippling scar upon my back.

He pressed his weight against their crossed blades and made Vanir back away. He followed with a sweeping blow from the side. Vanir evaded it to return the strike from the opposite side and their blades crossed again. The force behind his next strike was fuelled by his frustration and made the elf grunt from exertion as he blocked it. They danced around the ruins of dwarven architecture, focused on one another. It was exhilarating. Eragon let it all out; the pent-up frustration of the last few days with Arya rejecting him and Vanir ignoring him and the mystery of the dragon’s apparent gift. It was enough, he was at his breaking point and something had to give, or he would topple from the weight of it all.

Eventually it couldn’t have been a surprise as he had Vanir at sword point with Vanir snarling and trying to get away. He used Zar’roc to strike again and got the elf on his sword arm. The sickening crunch of bone breaking reverberated around the field. The blade fell to the ground as Vanir’s right arm couldn’t hold onto it any longer. They both breathed heavily. Eragon felt the pain through the link like his own and the elf was still in shock because he didn’t do anything as he was shoved to the ground. Another flare of pain along the bond made him grit his teeth. Vanir had tried to catch his fall with the broken arm. Eragon glared at him, still seething. Everything reminded him of his fate.

_Eragon, enough!_ Saphira roared. She seemed shocked at his behaviour. He felt shame creep up in him. Only now did it register that he’d seriously hurt someone.

_What has gotten into you? He has no control over what has been done to you! Don’t let anger control you._

_I’m so sorry._

_Not I need an apology._

Eragon backed away, the admonishment from her making him feel wretched, more than he already was. The elf was breathing heavily, they both were, and silence hung heavily in the air around them. Golden eyes were guarded as they looked at him but Eragon believed to see fear in them. Their bond made it clear that Vanir at least felt anxious to be around him. This wasn’t what he wanted. Vanir should respect him, but not fear him. Regretting his actions, he had no idea how to fix this.

“I’m sorry,” he started with an apology. The other’s wariness didn’t dissipate. Eragon didn’t fault him for that, as much as it hurt to see Vanir basically flinch away in terror. He laid Zar’roc on the ground away from him and lifted his hands in a sign to show he wasn’t going to hurt the other. Not anymore.

He had really fucked up, he thought cynically. Vanir still had his shields up around his mind, the mistrust trickling through their bond to the rider.

“You’re a worthy opponent shur’tugal. Galbatorix will surely fear you.” The words could have been as well a physical dealt blow, they made Eragon feel even worse.

“No. I don’t want to be feared. You shouldn’t need to be afraid of me. I swear to you, I won’t let my anger rule me like this, never again. I was wrong. Please, I want to make it right. Let me heal your arm.” 

“I’ll let nature take care of it,” he tried to dismiss the rider. His guarded position had slowly changed with the rider’s words. The way he looked at Eragon now was still far away from trusting, but he seemed to give Eragon a chance to prove himself. It sparked hope in the rider’s heart that he could redeem himself.

Carefully waiting for Vanir to let him take his broken limb into his hands, Eragon then healed the arm. The pain in his own arm receded once it was done.

“Thank you. Argetlam.”

“Please don’t call me that. I don’t deserve it from you.”

Vanir said nothing, staring at the ground. Eragon wasn’t sure if the elf simply couldn’t look at him or was feeling secure enough now to lower his gaze from the human. Everything was uncertain terrain it seemed.

“You can call me Eragon.” He said awkwardly. Playing with the hem of his tunic. Then, when no answer came, sheathing Zar’roc in its scabbard.

“Eragon…”

Said dragon rider halted as he heard his name, having stood up and turned to leave. He whirled around, looking at the elf who seemed unsure if he should continue. Vanir opened his mouth, closed it. Tried again.

“Maybe I was wrong too.” He said in the end. Without the arrogance usually in his tone of voice.

Eragon tilted his head, thinking them over. “Maybe. I know I’m not what you all wanted me to be.”

Vanir gathered his book and stood up. He held himself with the usual grace of an elf, still not without careful consideration of the space between them. It reminded Eragon, not everything could be mended as fast as a broken bone.

“I don’t know how to move forward from this.” Vanir said all of a sudden. He looked Eragon into the eye with newfound determination. “A bond is never taken lightly by my folk. It’s not possible to break one, and with our immortal lifespan, I fear what it could come of it if we stay as we were.”

“You would be willing to forget our rivalry?” he asked. Eragon wasn’t sure if he could start fresh, but he would try. After today he was tired of being angry at the elf and having the other’s emotions always next to his own was tiring when they were both against each other.

“Are you against it?”

“No! I’m just surprised how easily you are willing to forgive me.”

Vanir huffed, the first expression of amusement he showed around Eragon that wasn’t at this expense. It baffled Eragon how it changed the elf, made him seem younger. Less rough around the edges.

“You apologised and healed my arm. I don’t want to poison our bond with unneeded grudges. Yes, I forgive you.”

“What does this bond mean to you Vanir. You wouldn’t have forgiven me for this before.”

“As I said, it’s not something taken lightly. Dragon rider bonds were based on these, strong connections shared only by those who were willing to die for each other. It’s a promise made for life.”

Oh.

Oh no.

No, no, no no no no-

What was he going to do?

Somewhere in the back oof his head, Saphira was laughing. Eragon tried to reign in his runaway thoughts and the encroaching panic. He wouldn’t panic over this. Vanir was already emitting worry and it made his own mind flutter into renewed panic.

Breathing through his nose to calm down, Eragon thought with logic about this. He had been rejected by Arya, and he was still hung up about it. Then there was this sudden bond sprung on him by old dragon spirits. Fabolous. It apparently meant he was kind of married.

Vanir held the same ethereal charm that all elves held. His golden eyes and ebony hair made him exotic and handsome. And Eragon could admit that the elf was handsome. And he was also male.

From his upbringing alone it should have bothered him more than it did. Eragon ignored the thought. Their village had been giving Eragon stares for being a bastard, because nobody knew if his mother had been married to his father. She’d appeared pregnant and alone and died shortly after giving birth to him. Garrow hadn’t cared about it and neither had Roran.

Eragon looked at Vanir, took in the small braids in his hair holding it back from his face, the way he had feathers braided into them. His pale skin and lithe but strong masculine form. Eragon hadn’t allowed himself to look before, but now he did, and he found that he liked what he saw.

He quickly looked away, face flushing. He didn’t know what he said, probably something along the way of a farewell, with the elf promising to be at the Tiandalí Hall tomorrow if Eragon wished to meet him there. Eragon fled the clearing, embarrassed over his own reaction.

*

Oromis was satisfied at the progress he made and further revealed the secrets of the old dragon riders to them. After the incident in the dwarven ruins he’d sparred with the female elf Aurora every morning. She was good but the calm way she assessed him and struck afterwards was the opposite of what he expected from Vanir. Suffice to say he missed him. Vanir himself had stopped hiding They met the following evening at the Tiandali Hall. This way Eragon learned that Vanir was not, in fact, from the capital city, but a smaller city from the outskirts. Vanir also evaded all questions and didn’t say more about where he came from. Eragon didn’t press the topic further, knowing from the way their bond transmitted the elf’s unwillingness to share his past with him that he should lay off. They still couldn’t hide their emotions behind their shields. Sometimes a thought slipped through if they weren’t careful. It got easier to manage when he wasn’t actively trying, but never worked to cover his emotions too. Eragon believed it would never work completely.

*

Life despite all signs of the contrary, continued like before. Eragon had tried questioning his mentor about the dragon spirits actions during the blood oath, but only gotten half answers to his questions. Oromis told Eragon to focus on his studies.

Eragon followed the advice from his mentor, training in combat and magic, and reading up on old and ancient dragon rider history. In his free time, he found himself meeting with Vanir, since they no longer saw each other on the training field since that day. Aurora was just as good, and her different style gave Eragon a new TK obstacle hurdle.

Vanir often led him to quiet parts of the forest, like the abandoned structures of old watch towers and half crumbled temples from ancient gods. Eragon was curious as to why, but he held his tongue. Their tentative friendship was new, and he wasn’t sure he should voice his question now. These places were in their own way a sign that Vanir was willing to share them with him, since there was never anyone else when they arrived.

It was one morning that he woke up and had the realisation that he’d forgotten about Roran. He’d been so focused on his learning and his own problems how he would apologize to Arya and how he was now friends with Vanir…and he’d completely forgotten that he needed to make sure his cousin was alright.

One spell later he had his answer, and it was bad. Carvahall had been burned to the ground, the villagers and Roran somewhere on a ship at sea. He was relived to know his cousin was alive, but… his home was gone. It was hard to see the charred landscape where houses once stood, buildings he’d known his whole live.

Saphira shared in his grief even if she couldn’t quite understand how he felt. She still tried to lighten his burden in any way she could.

The next shock came, when he used the dream sight to scry on Nasuada and found out about the army marching towards Surda.

Of course, he demanded to know why Oromis and Izlandadi hadn’t told them of this.

“We feared you would feel obligated to return but you aren’t ready yet to face Galbatorix himself. Your training isn’t yet finished.”

Saphira growled. Her free spirit shared his own emotions in this topic.

“It’s still our right to know about this. I understand your concerns, but couldn’t you’ve trusted us to make the right decision?”

“And your decision, upon learning of the peril, the Varden face?”

Eragon knew they would have left the moment it was clear they were needed. Of course, it was their duty. Eragon had sworn loyalty to the Varden.

“It’s our decision to make. We’ll return, but we must go.” He left no room to argue. Oromis acknowledged his words. He didn’t seem happy about them.

“Well then. I have something for you before you go.”

Oromis gave him a finely woven belt. The belt was a lot heavier than it looked and he discovered why as he flapped the cloth away to reveal precious gems. His eyes widened as he stammered.

“I can’t accept this!”

“The belt of Beloth the wise. In the gems you’ll be able to store energy. It was once one of the treasures if the old riders. Take care of it. There’s no comparable collection of cut gemstones in existence as far as my knowledge reaches.”

“I will.” He promised with a bow. At last Oromis gave him a self-written copy if his poem from the Agaethi Bloëdrhen the artwork depicting the story in shimmering ink. He thanked his masters and together they bid them farewell.

After meeting the queen by the Tiandali halls, and another round of thankyous for the gifts bestowed upon them they met Orik on the training field the dwarf sitting on their travel provisions for one-week travel. He was still grumbling about flying and provisions as he sharpened his axe with a whetstone. Next to Orik stood a grim faced, silently brooding Vanir. He held his own travel bag filled with necessities and had his elven sword and bow strapped to his person. He looked up as Saphira landed in the clearing.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t tell you we were leaving.” Eragon said and looked at the elf. Vanir scowled his brows drawn downwards.

“Your thoughts were very loud. You broadcasted your intent to leave and I saw Saphira fly over and followed.”

Eragon cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed. He’d in his haste forgotten. To be honest he hadn’t thought about the elf wanting to follow him to the Varden. It made sense, they were both vulnerable to the other’s pain and emotional state.

The rider slipped down from the saddle and began tying the bags to her. He turned around and hesitated. The decision was made for him as Vanir gave him his pack. He tied this, too, to her saddle. Afterwards Saphira tested the secureness by flapping her wings and jumping into the air hovering shortly then falling back landing in a crouch.

Orik watched the whole proceedings with his grim face. Misery was written on it.

“She won’t let you fall.” Eragon once again assured the dwarf.

“Dwarves were not meant for flying, Eragon!” Nevertheless, he climbed up one of her legs unsteadily until reaching the saddle. The golden eyed elf was more graceful in his steps as he climbed into the saddle after Eragon, sitting behind the rider. The rider felt him slope one arm around his middle. He had to breathe in a bout of air as his throat seemed dry. Eragon quickly shielded his thoughts as much as he could.

The elves watched Saphira as she stretched her wings to take off. Her massive form embraced the sky, her scales glittering blue, blending her into the heavens. Eragon watched the forest beneath them and knew he wasn’t the same who came to the elven city.

Three days flying had been the limit. Even if Saphira could have flown longer, Eragon had insisted on making camp on the ground. They chose the silver woods. It was only a day’s flight from Surda’s capital city and well into the borders to be safe from imperial forces. It also gave them all a well needed rest before they’d fly to the Varden camp. The dwarf was the first back on the ground happily stretching his legs and near crying in joy. Vanir also joined the dwarf as he climbed down the dragoness’s side. The elf gave them a mumbled ‘I’ll find some wood.’ and vanished into the woods. Eragon shook his head. He stroked along Saphira’s scales and closed his eyes enjoying their moment of respite. She sent him images of a herd of deer she’d seen during flight. Her rumbling hunger was slowly bleeding over through their connection and he nodded.

_Take the time you need. We’re fine. I’m not going to start another fight._

She gave him a small shove with her snout and snorted.

_I’m going then after you take the bags off, little one. I can’t hunt with them._

True to her word she took to the air once again as he’d barely gotten the saddlebags off. He took the bedrolls and cooking pot and started preparing the camp. Vanir came back with the firewood and Eragon used what spices he had for a simple but filling soup. Vanir sat on his bedroll and watched him.

*

Breakfast was a simple matter of Orik searching additional kindling for a fire and Saphira hunting again, saying she could have another deer before they left the silver woods. It left him alone with the elf who’d been silent ever since leaving the deep forests of Du Veldenvarden.

The air around them grew into uncomfortable silence as Eragon tried to think of a topic that would allow him to engage in a discussion with Vanir. He simply didn’t know much about the elf, despite their regular meetings in Elesméra.

It was Vanir who provided an answer to his dilemma. “_Queta. _I think it will be a while before Orik and Saphira return.”

“I don’t recognize that one, and I thought myself fluent in the ancient language. Before, in Elesméra, you were sometimes using strange words too.”

Eragon watched the elf look aside in thought, like he needed to formulate an explanation. He lightly shook his head. “You probably wouldn’t know. It’s not even part of the ancient language, but old elvish. It was before we came to Alagaësia.”

Eragon leant forward, intrigued. He’d never heard of an elven language and simply assumed. It made sense. The grey folk had used the ancient language to bind magic.

“Why is nobody speaking it if it’s part of your culture?” he asked.

“…many forgot, but I grew up my whole life talking in the old tongue. Not many honours the old ways, not since Galbatorix killed them, at least.”

Vanir veiled himself in silence and they were joined by Orik and Saphira not long afterwards. A small breakfast of bread, dry fruit and nuts and meat for the dwarf had them then break up camp.

The flight was filled with silence since Orik had no more riddles that he and Saphira solved. Eragon tried not to notice how tense the elf holding onto him was.

They still disliked each other, still were biting each other’s heads off, as Saphira drily commented to him, but Eragon had noticed how the warm sunlight reflected in the elf’s golden eyes, how his voice held a different quality to it than the rest of the elves they encountered, a little milder on the vowels or stressing a different part of a word. It wasn’t often heard, but since Vanir was always tense around him, it came out more and especially in situations where golden depths were sparking with fire and the elf looked like he wanted him to combust so he didn’t have to deal with the human.

It was with less hostility, but just as much fire behind the words that Vanir had cursed him on one remarkable occasion, words the same lyrical vowels as now, during flight. Vanir’s mind was open to his, and Eragon listened as the elf was reminded of a song.

_Naityë sindë eäron falma, martya-cesta cuilë lá fára._

The dragon rider didn’t ask what it meant, finding himself like an intruder to the elf’s memory. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t not listen to what came through their mental shields, but at least he could forget to mention that he had been privy to them.

*****

Aberon was lying before them, the geometrical shape of its defensive wall and rows of smaller buildings giving it an orderly style. They hadn’t bothered with hiding before and Saphira had gotten some villagers attention, judging by their loud exclamations of shock. The castle Borromeo was getting bigger as their neared, Saphira slowly circling to prepare her landing.

The courtyard was thankfully empty. The few servants were intelligent enough to get out of the dragon’s way. They looked on fearfully as they saw her.

A group of soldiers hurried to them. Eragon feared they would start a fight. He had no interest to fight with allies, but the man in the lead stopped and greeted them. He had the same dark skin as Nasuada which he hadn’t seen often in Alagaësia.

“Welcome dragon rider. I’m Dahwar, mayor of the palace and taking care of affairs at court in absence of his majesty, king Orrin.”

Eragon didn’t bow but he did lower his head in a respectful way as his station as dragon rider gave him a special station in society and he’d to bow to nobody but those he’d sworn loyalty to. He was now glad that Nasuada had given him the compressed version of polite etiquette so he wouldn’t stand around like an idiot.

“Eragon, dragon rider of the Varden.” He introduced himself.

“The King and lady Nasuada, and with her the Varden, have started journeying to the burning plains to meet the imperial forces.”

“The Burning Plains?” Eragon asked.

“Du Völlar Eldrvarya, as it’s called in the ancient language.” Eragon nodded as he recognized the name now. The mayor of the palace continued by bringing a map of Surda, along with a bigger map showing the empire and everything west of the Hadarac desert.

He drew a line from Aberon to Cithrí.

“Last I heard they wanted to make halt for provisions there. You should be on lookout for them around there.”

He pointed to two points on the map.

Thanking the major-domo for his services they asked for supplies and were granted enough o last them the remaining travel. Saphira returned back into the air. They flew without pause for another day before they reached a dirt coloured cloud.

“_I vanwië uryar._” Vanir whispered. Eragon couldn’t understand the strangely melodic words, but he understood their meaning. They’d arrived at the burning plains.


	3. Dark Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've already noticed, I'm shamelessly using Quenia as another language to integrate into the world of Alagaesia. My intention for this: elves can't have always spoken the ancient language. Elves weren't native to the land. The grey folk was. More about this will be explained later on.
> 
> Disclaimer: All rights go to their respective owners. I'm just playing around in this universe.

**3 DARK NIGHT**

The burning plains were uninhabited terrain. Scorched by the dragon fire during the rider wars, it had been declared dead land. Eragon shivered at the sight with the knowledge that Saphira’s ancestors had died upon these very grounds; Torn from the skies by the forsworn and Galbatorix madness.

His fellow travellers were silent as they flew over the small hills that gave way to one big even landscape. Before them lay a horrific sight: the dead land was literally aglow an eerie orange-red from the sunlight filtered by the smoke. Beneath the cloud cover the Jiet River was winding itself through the land like a big, coiling snake. The pillars of sunlight peeking through gave the twilight a threatening quality. In the stillness of it the two armies lay. The Varden and Surdanians had barricaded themselves behind rows of defences, the colourful banners and tents to the east of the water body. Their numbers paled to the imperial army though. Three miles wide was the first row and Eragon could see them as one long body of shadow stretching towards the horizon. It was discouraging. The Varden were outnumbered, even with Surda’s forces on their side.

Saphira flew faster and took course at the Varden. As long as they were in the open the enemy’s magicians could attack them. Eragon tried to find any threatening thoughts as he let his mind open to the emotional state of the people on the ground. All he gleamed though was the panic in the rows of the soldiers and he realized that many wouldn’t have seen Saphira yet. Not a moment later her mind showed him the arrowheads directed at them. He felt Vanir’s alertness through their bond, having seen what Saphira had showed Eragon. The elf was ready to react, but Eragon had it under control. Sensing his intentions, Vanir nodded his head.

“Letta orya thorna!”[1]

The arrows froze in the air and he willed them to fly into the nothing lands to avoid any damage. He missed one though, a straggler, Vanir caught with his hand leaning forward. Eragon felt his breath on his ear, tickling the skin, and smelled the elf’s natural scent of forest and cinnamon. His own breathing seemed to stop for a second. Saphira’s indignation gave him something to concentrate on and he willed his mind on that. She made a show to land gracefully between the tents where warriors crowded around them. She let out a cloud of smoke and showed her long sharp teeth and they flinched heavily. Satisfied she stopped her display and looked around. Orik made his hasty way down.

“Werg.[2] If I have to live through another landing like that I’m more inclined to fight a kull instead!” he swore. The rider and the elf were following him down and Eragon saw Fredric the weapon master from Farthen Dûr.

“What’s got you ogling huh?! Back on your posts!” he bellowed. It got the warriors to scatter like little boys. Some were grumbling and turning around to stare at Saphira though who caught them and smiled at them, showing purposely her sharp row of teeth. They hurried their steps in righteous fear.

_Stop it._

_I’m not doing anything._

Fredric approached them. He couldn’t mask his surprise fast enough as he saw Eragon.

“Greetings, shade slayer. You’re here at the right time. I have to apologize for the men. This slight won’t happen again and I’m deeply ashamed for it. Has anyone been hurt?”

He looked at the grumbling dwarf and then at Vanir who held the arrow in his hand, examining it, but listening to the conversation. At Eragon’s negative he seemed relieved.

“I suspended the men responsible from their duties and they’ll be flogged and their ranks relieved.”

“I want to see them.”

Hesitatingly, the weapon’s master gestured to them to follow him. Fredric was worried, probably thinking the rider seeking revenge. Eragon found it a good quality that the weapons master was caring for those under his command.

The men were held in a striped tent where they had to give up their armour and weapons, common procedure in the army of the Varden. The sight of Saphira and Eragon made them fall to their knees and greeting them in a collective cry of: “Shadeslayer!”

Eragon walked down the rows of men looking into their minds and finding nothing overly offensive.

“You all can be proud on your quick actions but in the future look first who you’re shooting. Next time I may not be as fast to defend myself. I doubt though that you could harm Galbatorix this way.”

The twenty men looked up to him in surprise. Their faces had the colour of blunt messing in the strange lighting of the plains. The last man in the row startled as he stopped before him.

“Vanir.”, he turned towards the elf. “Would you please give Harwin back his arrow?”

The soldier took back his arrow stupefied. “You’re right! That one is mine. I mark them with a white stripe so I’ll find them again afterwards. Thank you shadeslayer.”

Eragon nodded. He turned to Fredric.

“These are good, honest men. I don’t want them punished for the incident today.”

“As is your wish, argetlam[3].” Fredric said smiling.

“Now bring us to Nasuada.”

Nasuada’s tent was a deep shade of red the standarte of the Varden flattering above in the wind. He, Orik and Vanir went inside while Fredric stayed outside. Saphira peered through an opened flap on the side, her head all that would fit through. Her massive sapphire eyes gleamed in the dim shade her own bulk cast on them.

“Eragon?” Nasuada asked with surprise. Disbelieving. She’d been deep in thought, bowed over a many cards and maps. Arya and she were fully clothed in battle gear.

He was happy to see her again. Bringing his fingers to his lips he bowed and combined elven traditions with human courtesy.

“At your service, my lady Nasuada.” He said.

“Eragon!” this time it was relieved and happy. Arya seemed also glad for him to be here. He’d at first missed her presence in the tent, as she’d been standing of to the side. “How have you gotten our message so fast?”

“I haven’t. Actually I’ve found out about the situation by using the dream sight. I left the same day.” He smiled again, fidgeting unnoticeably, admitting his try to spy on Arya. “It’s good to be back.”

“What happened to you Eragon?” she asked and he noticed her looking at him. So he explained most of it. His training, he couldn’t go into the details since nobody was allowed to know about Oromis existence and the blood oath ceremony was a sore topic for him. He tried his best to explain and gloss over his Bond to Vanir as a mind link and power sharing link. She didn’t need to be informed of the cultural importance of elven bonds.

“Your scar is gone?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve experienced much since leaving Farthen Dûr.”

“The same could be said about you. Leaving the dwarves and bringing everyone here and getting Surda to lend us their help. The council of elders must have given you difficulties.”

She swiped her hand in a gesture that meant it had been nothing that she couldn’t handle.

“They soon found, it was either being against me or for me and they wisely decided on the better option.”

“Indeed.” He commented, not trying to hide his smirk at the thought of the council finding that Nasuada was no small, scared girl, they could control.

As Nasuada asked if they’d seen the dwarven army, they denied. Saphira added that it was night as they flew over land and their ways wouldn’t have crossed anyway. Hrothgar’s forces could be well on the way. Nasuada asked once more, this time Orik, about their stay in Ellesméra but the dwarf had nothing to add to Eragon’s story and so she lastly pierced Vanir with a hard look. Until now she’d ignored the elf standing a step away and behind Eragon. He met the dark eyed stare with his usual polite aloofness that Eragon was beginning to notice Vanir showing in the presence of strangers and high ranked people.

“Vanir, was it? I hope your presence won’t endanger Eragon and Saphira. They’re the only hope to win this war, but I hopefully won’t need to tell you this. You’re not under my command nor have you sworn your loyalty to me. You can see why I am anxious as to your role in this.”

“I’m not going to go against your orders for Eragon Nasuada-_arquen_.[4]” He said in the common tongue. She frowned at the unknown word, but detected no disrespect in it and let it fall as the other two users of the ancient language hadn’t reacted negatively.

“I’ll take your word on this for now.” She said after a pause, now definitely calmer. She turned back to the others in her tent.

“The situation is this: three days ago, the imperial forces arrived and a messenger gave us a message to capitulate. We denied and are waiting for an answer still. Their forces are maybe a hundred thousand, or more.”

“A hundred thousand!” Eragon exclaimed in shock.

Nasuada nodded grimly.

“Mostly forcibly recruited we think.” Jörmundur said.

“Our own forces are visibly smaller even with the new recruitments from mem willing to fight since news of you travelled around far and fast.” She said.

“Our first priority will be to kill their magicians and have the general army unprotected so you can attack them. If Galbatorix himself is showing up though, we’d need to draw back.”

Eragon knew he wasn’t ready to face the tyrant now and agreed with her.

“Now we need to find Orrin. I have to introduce you to him and his advisors. Orik have you met him?”

“No. I’ve never been this far west.” The dwarf said.

As they left the tent Eragon had no chance to speak to Arya. A bit downtrodden he followed the two female warriors. He knew that Vanir had felt his disappointment and couldn’t look at him. They were still mostly strangers and barely friends. The tent of king Orrin was in the special lighting not definable in colour. Its interior was filled with curiosities. Glass vials and other alchemy tools dominated the space. Eragon lifted an eyebrow to express his disbelief politely.

_Who in their right mind takes all this with them on a battlefield?_

“Eragon,” Nasuada said, “I introduce you Orrin, son of Larkin and King of Surda.”

King Orrin was a man of lanky statue with shoulder length hair held back by a gold circlet and with little experience in warfare since his country had been under a fragile truce with the empire before openly siding with the Varden. Eragon found out his mental walls were as formidable as those of Nasuada. He must have been taught in the mental arts from a young age. His quirky side became apparent during their talk. Eragon was relieved as the king’s attention wandered to the elf at his side and he no longer had to evade questions about his stay in Ellesméra. Vanir, his mask from before already in place, danced through the small interrogation and even found easy ways to charm the lords to him. Eragon was already at his wit’s end with the countless invitations to visit them and ‘it was such an honour to speak to him’. Really they were at war! What was it important if he knew that the Lord Galahd was marrying next spring and wanted his presence and blessing?

_Even if politics seem unimportant right now, once this war is over you’ll need their favour to make important decisions in leadership._

Vanir’s mental voice washed over him like warm honey. Eragon made no outward sign to have been caught by surprise at the elf using their mental connection at all, but inwardly he’d shied away from it. Who said the honey wasn’t poisonous?

_Politics are a maze made of false niceties and backstabbing._ He thought back. Saphira gave an image of confusedness. She thought why not say what you think?

_You could quickly anger someone. Not that they would seek revenge from you brightscale._

Vanir sounded actually bemused.

~~~

They left Nasuada after clearing up what to do next. Eragon would see after the Du Vrangr Gata and lead them like they’d offered him before. Vanir would also be part of their ranks since he was a strong magician. Orik went in search of his clan brothers to take lead of them. He’d happily agreed as Nasuada had offered him the position.

Saphira meanwhile needed to take off the saddle and packs. She’d complained about it rubbing against her scales uncomfortably if she had to rest with the saddle on. Before Arya had been able to go, he’d held her back. It got him a warning glance from Arya and he’d been quick to let her go but she’d stayed. He’d apologized for his words but he’d also said that he wouldn’t apologize for his feelings. At that she’d sighed.

“Please understand that I didn’t mean to hurt you. But please understand my reasons for it. I don’t feel the same, Eragon! You’re Bonded.”

“Even if… even if I weren’t?” He needed to know. Her eyes and voice grew soft.

“Even then, Eragon… I...Fäolin and I had thought about bonding you must know. After he’d been murdered by Durza...I’d wished I could’ve died then, but I have my duty to my people.”

He nodded. He felt ashamed to have shoved his own feelings on her now, but he hadn’t known.

“I’m still your friend Eragon.”

“I thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about this. Can’t say that it doesn’t hurt, but… it is like it is now.” He shrugged helplessly, but she could probably still see the heartache reflected in his eyes. This wasn’t something he would move on from in a day. This was something he needed to deal with on his own time. Eragon was simply relieved to know she wouldn’t distance herself from him.

Saphira rolled her shoulders and gave a rumbling purr as the saddle construction was taken off. Eragon changed into his chainmail and took his bow and arrow back up from where they’d been leaning against a barrel. The swan feathered arrows were on his back now and Zar’roc gleamed at his waist in its red sheath.

~~~

Finding Trianna was his next task so he sent out his mind to find someone who shielded theirs. They didn’t find her, but someone else. In a green tent with a donkey tied down on a wooden peg, was Angela. The witch was busily stirring the content of a large cauldron with a wooden rod. Solembum crouched at her feet. Dried herbs hung from the tent pole overhead, quite poisonous ones he knew from Oromis his teachings. He identified Rhododendron, some mushrooms - which led to feverish illusions - and nightshade. Her expression as she saw him was creepy in the light of the fumes.

“You’re back.”, was all she said.

“Yes.”

“So you’ve heard about Elva?” She meant the young girl Saphira had given the Gedwëy Ignasia to, the one they’d met on their way from Orrin’s tent. Eragon had regretted his blessing turned curse once again upon meeting her and realizing his action had forced her to grow up in such a short time.

“Yes.”

“Is that everything you say? Yes? Look you dumb idiot of a dragon rider-“

Thus, she began her long winded speech and he let her rant about all the things from how he was an idiot whose ancestors had been in a relation with urgals to make him such a rash thinking twerp. He let her, because he knew she was doing this for his fault with Elva. In a short moment of respite, because she need to draw air to continue her rant, he told her of his intentions. His promise to help the child after the battle made her blink.

“You’re really able to take back your curse?”

“The elves hold a lot of knowledge in the ways of magic.” He said.

“Aha... well, nice to see you again Saphira. You’ve grown since the last time!”

_And you have not, brown hair._

“Your speech was impressive.”

“Thank you. I’ve worked over the last weeks on it. I could give you the end, if you want.”

“No thank you.”

“A pity, it was the best part.”

He watched her brew for a while.

“You haven’t said anything about my looks.”

“I have my ways. You look better now. And I also know about him.” She pointed at Vanir, who had never left his position as the rider’s silent shadow over the day. “Eloped with an elf, huh? I must say it surprised me at first.”

Eragon blushed to the roots of his hair, if the heat in his cheeks was any indication. Of course one travelling as long and much as Angela would know elven culture.

“I didn’t-“

“Yes, yes. _Bonded_.” She smiled, or grinned, he wasn’t sure.

“An invitation could have been nice, but by the way you react it must be unusual for you. Human customs these days are a bit narrow minded for my taste. I must have misled you in my prediction. The bones only told of _a person_ of royal blood, not the gender or race they are. Congratulations anyway, one never knows what tomorrow will bring in times of war.”

Eragon had no idea what to answer, so he simply didn’t.

She gave them tea. The moment she wasn’t looking he searched the cup for poisons. He drank it, still no idea what it was beyond ‘tea’ and ‘not poisonous’. He needed to ask Arya how to identify the different herbs used in common food. It would work as a neutral topic to approach her with. Angela asked about Orrin, so he told her of his alchemy equipment and how he could still not believe the man for bringing so much glass with him. Intrigued she thought about visiting him, but didn’t give them her reasons why. Then they were told to leave.

~~~

Trianna was in the middle of instructing the magicians through a spell and it wasn’t easy telling her of the change in leadership ordered by Nasuada. She’d found pleasure in the position and was not handing it over to him now without a fight which he really wanted to avoid. After explaining his plans to her and also showing respect in how she’d led the guild so far, she seemed a lot more willing to follow his thought process with an unbiased mind. Her fear to be seen as no longer useful was quenched and he was in charge of the Du Vrangr Gata with her second in command and mostly in charge as he couldn’t fully oversee the guild. The instigation of Vanir was with mixed feelings. Some felt unsure about an elf joining their ranks, but like with Eragon it was not a matter of choice and Eragon was quick to voice his reasons for Vanir remaining with the guild during the battle. Vanir had to show his abilities, to gain some supporters in the Du Vrangr Gata, but he held back his own distain for them which Eragon could feel through the bond like a dark cloud.

Most members of the du Vrangr Gata had only small vocabulary and not much knowledge, everything they’d gotten from family members teaching them in secret. The obvious fact, that Vanir and Eragon were the powerhouses in their magical defences was not encouraging.

Over a third of their magicians was specialised in healing magic. These, Eragon taught new healing spells and sent them away. The others, he got to work in a chain of command that would be the most efficient. It was strenuous, because they were all in concurrence with each other and not very trustful to the elf. They… managed.

Eragon had them on standby, for the time being, as he trained them in making mental contact with each other and him. A messenger came and told him that Nasuada wanted to see him as soon as possible during this. Vanir was left with the Du Vrangr Gata, to continue practicing the command chain established, and so the magicians would know Vanir’s mindscape to communicate with him without turning crazy.

~~~

“They have what?!” he exclaimed as Nasuada told him what she knew, seconds after he’d stepped inside.

“They’ve hoisted the white flag.”

A hundred kull were on the way to their camp and, apparently, if what Nasuada believed was true, here for peaceful negotiation.

“I’ll gift them the same polite greeting, I’d give anyone else under the white flag.” Nasuada said.

Eragon’s and Jörmundir’s words were falling on deaf ears, it seemed, as they protested again. Nasuada was set on her opinion. He remembered Yazuac and could hardly believe her forgiving nature, since these beasts had killed her father Ahjad. It should have made her against the urgals, having personally experienced loss by them.

_She can’t be serious!_

_She knows we’re here to protect her if it is a trap. Trust her leadership Eragon._

_How when she invites these monsters?_

_We can do nothing to change her mind. It’s no use agonizing over it, little one._

The kull was over two metres in height and muscled. He could probably fell a beor bear with ease. His horns and grotesque facial expression made him look ghastly. His fangs were fledged in a grimace as he walked towards them followed by the loud calls of the Varden. His long black hair was held by a strip of leather in a ponytail and he wore rusty metal plates and leather to protect his vital parts. Upon a superficial probe with his own mind he noticed, the kull’s mind was well protected behind mental shields, and he bore no weapon. His bravery was commendable he thought.

The kull stopped at length before Nasuada and opened his mouth. Arms skywards he let out a loud roaring cry that had everyone point their weapon at him. He shouted as long as he’d air in his lungs for it. Then he looked at Nasuada.

“Should this be a trap night huntress? I was assured of safe passage.”

At the still tense situation Eragon hastily told Nasuada what he knew of Urgal culture.

“This is the way they greet their warlords. Normally they would butt heads, but we better leave this part out.”

“Anything else you’ve learned by the elves?”

“They respect strength in battle.”

She turned her attention to the kull.

“Speak and tell us what you have to say. The Varden are no liars, like Galbatorix and his empire. You have nothing to fear.”

The kull revealed his throat, a sign of trustworthiness as it made him vulnerable. Eragon continued relaying his knowledge of the urgal culture to prevent misunderstandings.

He introduced himself as Nar Garzhvog and reported their version of the battle at Farthen Dûr. Their want for revenge, and also the want for lands to live on without persecution from every race in Alagaësia, was easily understandable. Nasuada soon found herself another ally and Eragon wasn’t sure what he should think of it. His own opinion of the urgals wouldnt change as quickly and the rest of the Varde would have similar thoughts. Many had fought against the urgals in Farthen Dûr and lost a loved one to them. This would lead to a rift in their rows, at worst. Orrin seemed to share his opinion as he rushed over to Nasuada, wildly asking what in heaven’s name she was doing trusting urgals? He was interrupted by a cry from the guards. An imperial messenger had been sighted.

[1] Basically making the arrows stop

[2] Damn; dwarven curse word

[3] Silverhand; honorable way to address a dragon rider

[4] Roughly translates to: queen, leadership role. Vanir uses it as a respectful honorific. (Quenia.)


	4. Fire and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of the burning plains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: You're soon going to hate me. It gets worse before it gets better? Thanks for the kudos left on the last chapter^^ life is stressful for me so it will take some time for the next chapter. I am working on it.

4

**FIRE AND BLOO** **D**

VANIR

He tested the bow's string, counted his swan feathered arrows, and fiddled with the tip of one as he saw the tensed forms around him. The Du Vrangr Gata had been disorganized. Eragon had taken over command with difficulty. Trianna had been against giving up her position and only relented after the rider had made it clear, he wasn't threatening her seat of power. The rider had tested every mage's abilities, mostly talking with them to get a feeling for their use in the upcoming battle. It was a matter of strategy, he thought. And despite his own silent worries, the rider was actually quite competent in deciding a strategy despite his apparent youth.

Vanir felt his anger stir at the thought of the rider for leaving him here. The human sorcerers were cautiously avoiding speaking to him. He could feel their stares prickle against his skin. Did they think he wouldn't notice? His golden gaze swept over the busy rows of tents as he contemplated his situation. Eragon had obviously no idea how to handle their unique situation. Humans were ignorant of elven bonds of course. And Eragon, despite his changed appearance, was human. Vanir didn't hate the rider. His instincts told him to protect him and drew him to him like a moth to a flame. Angrily squashing the urge he sighed under his breath and threw a small rock with his feet. It bounced two times and was lost amidst the dirt of the plains again. Eragon wasn't feeling the allure or he was successfully ignoring it. Either way, Vanir had a hard time changing his attitude towards his bonded, and wasn't it ironic? He who'd been the one to antagonize the human rider, now trying to redeem himself? Another quiet exhale of breath. He couldn't wait for the fighting to start.

"Makes you see life from a whole 'nother angle, huh."

The human sorcerer speaking to him suddenly didn't startle him, Vanir told himself. He looked at a man, all gangly old limbs, hair and face wizened by apparent age in a way elves never did. His eyes were old, having seen a life time of oppression and fear. They were open as they watched him. Curious but not cautious like the rest of the guild.

"You kan't impress me with elven looks alone lad. I've seen enough in my long life to know not to stare just bekause some pointy ears and weird eyebrows." The sorcerer said his accent strange to the forest dweller. It was giving the words kind of a hard edge. "You elves all look young to me but if I may know how old are ya?"

"Why the interest in my age?" he asked. The man shrugged his bony shoulders. "No reason. Curiosity? I have a son. He is. He looks your age. Archer you see. Thankfully not the frontlines. Has no talent for magik but kan hit a kull from twenty miles away."

So the human saw him as a child? No, he had seemed proud of his son as he told Vanir about him. This couldn't be it. Maybe misplaced worry then. The man's mind was admirably shielded and even emotions were hidden behind a wall of neutral feelings.

"Would you believe my words if I told you that I'm over a century in years?" he asked with a mischievous smile. The man laughed. "As I said it's impossible for me to gauge your age!"

The man calmed down and exhaled loudly before he spoke again. "This war seems to have gone on a lot longer than just the battle of Farthen Dûr. Somehow we all foukht in some way against the mad king, we just never noticed. I see his army and I hope to whatever deity will hear my plea: Let my son survive this. What am I telling you this? I'm an old man already, lamenting his woes like a woman to the nearest listening ear!" he scratched his grey beard, the short thing in orderly fashion.

"In my eyes, your age is that of a child." Vanir stated not unkindly. He didn't mind the human talking to him. As much as he disliked them he knew not to antagonize his allies. "What does age matter, elf? The oldest of men kan be fools, regardless, while a young warrior kould act beyond his age. It's all about who we are."

Vanir mulled over the strange words in his head. "Who are you?" He decided to ask in the end. "Leanan."

"A strange name for a human." He commented. The man grinned. He scratched his beard again and shifted slightly from one foot to the other. "My ma loved the old stories of our village, I guess."

That was all. No elaboration but Vanir hadn't expected him to reveal anything at all.

_It's all about who we are._

The words repeated themselves inside his mind. _Who we are..._

ERAGON

Night had broken over the burning plains. Eragon was just finished clothing Saphira in her armour plates. The lights of the imperial camp glowed like a city in irregular intervals. He could see the fires of the scorched ground an eerie glow.

He closed his eyes to get into contact with the du Vrangr Gata. It was a matter of life and death should they not recognise him the moment he contacted them.

„Vanir." He said and reopened them. Their Bond had informed him already about the elf's presence For a moment he wondered why the elf must have wandered all the way through camp to visit him. The guild was stationed on the other side after all.

„What leads you here?" he asked. He wasn't out for confrontation directly before battle and truly curious as he gleamed nothing from the elf's mind. Vanir surprised him by being the first one to bow and lead his fingertips to his lips; the elven greeting. A show of respect. As far as Eragon remembered it wasn't something Vanir had ever done before. Even the greeting for Nasuada had been different. He repeated the motions and concluded the small tradition with his own phrase. It showed his own respect in return.

„I thought I could see how you fare. It will be a long wait till the dawn." Vanir began. Eragon brushed away the tingling spreading through him. He didn't need the elf concerning himself with him. They'd been at each other's throat not a month ago. He felt justified in warring the distance. Despite this he found himself motioning for the other to take a seat. Vanir sat himself cross legged a few paces away from Saphira and Eragon respectively. His long raven hair hid his ears from view and with the feline grace he could have easily been confused for a woman.

A bit embarrassed he shook the thought away. He wasn't over his puppy love for Arya yet, it seemed. As unusual as it was for him to find a man attractive he couldn't deny it either. Their rivalry made it all the more enticing and Eragon wondered if it would carry over to a more 8ntimate power play. He envisioned himself held down by these strong arms... reminding himself he was not alone in his head he quickly banned the image.

"Saphira and me will fight at the front if needed." He said to divert his attention from the not bad images. "If this happens I want you to continue searching for enemy magicians and eliminate them." Vanir looked up from where he'd glued swan feathers to the shaft of a new arrow, and his eyes lingered on him searchingly.

"The Du Vrangr Gata aren't going to be happy about you giving me command." He stated. Eragon shook his head. "It's not about them. They can go and complain to Nasuada afterwards. I need someone for this task with enough skill and power behind it."

VANIR

Eragon was right. Vanir was the only one who had both. The guild was sadly less than a handful of experienced and powerful magicians. The rest was more or less healers who exhausted themselves mending a bad break.

"Anything else you need me to do?" he asked. This talk had started with Vanir wanting to get to know more about Eragon. In their time in Ellesméra he'd often shown the rider the city but their walks had seldom included personal information. Eragon though wasn't in the mood to give away anything personal now. He was talking about battle. The clear dismissal stung. Vanir had given up information on his past. He'd opened up slightly and it had only hurt that the other wasn't returning the gesture.

Vanir hadn't cared about the rider's opinion before. The elf wanted the rider to succeed, because he was their only hope to dethrone the mad king. Slowly though the rider became Eragon, and Vanir found enjoyment in their talks. He wasn't going to claim friendship. He had no idea what it was that drew him to the rider now. A bond couldn't force them to feel anything for each other so Vanir knew it wasn't the bond that made him seek out Eragon. Again.

His disappointment must have been felt through the bond because Eragon sighed as he leaned back against Saphira. "I am not sure. I believe you're as proficient in close combat as I am. You certainly are one of our best magicians at the moment." He said. "It's not about what I want you to do. It's about what needs to be done. Go back to the Du Vrangr Gata."

The elf gripped the shaft of an arrow and gritted his teeth. Vanir heard the wood in his hand creak ominously.

_You don't understand._ He thought and saw the rider flinch. He heard him. _I need to talk to you._ He felt like he was already in a battle of sorts as Eragon shook his head.

_Later, Vanir._

When? After the battle was over? He felt defeat as he rose, picking up his bow, slinging it over one shoulder, ready to head back to Leanan and the other sorcerers. His hope had been to talk to Eragon now. He feared he wouldn't have the chance afterwards. Knowing that the other didn't wish to do so now stung.

His shoulders slumped, he tried one last time. "Eragon-"

Eragon's eyes grew cold. "The Du Vrangr Gata is waiting."

Vanir knew that his time was up. He stood up and left with a heavy weight in his stomach. Doing otherwise would have just been provocation.

ERAGON

He watched the elf go.

_I don't know how to act around him anymore Saphira. He suddenly seeks me out to talk? Vanir. Wanting to talk._

HE couldn't believe it and his wonderment carried over their dragon rider bond. Saphira snorted her nostrils smoking.

_Have you thought that he actually wants to befriend you?_

He scratched her chin and shrugged. He had, but it was Vanir. The elf who clearly hated humans for some reason he still hadn't told him.

_He isn't very clear._

_You're both children. _Saphira stated.

There was no time to continue their conversation as Orik came not long after Vanir had left, and sat with them. His clan brothers from the Durgrimst Ingietum would fight beside them. The dwarven army hadn't arrived yet so they were the only dwarfs around. Eragon was glad to see his clan brother and they used the time to exchange information on the happenings around camp. Orik couldn't tell them much they didn't already know though.

At one point in time he intercepted Angela. The witch and her were cat were close mouthed about their trek into enemy territory but Eragon had his suspicions as he saw the empty glass vials from Orrin's tent.

The cries started a few hours later. Eragon watched as imperial forces were overcome by Angela's poison, detached from his own remorse. They didn't deserve it. This was war and even more people would be hurt if he didn't end it as soon as possible. Angela did what everyone else did, doing what she could, really. Still, he hated that they had to resort to such tactics.

ERAGON

They stole themselves out of camp at dawn. The armies were split into groups to stop the imperial forces at the Jiet river and to attack them from the front and sides. At the alarm signals Nasuada ordered them to attack. Orrin's magician Bärden easy informed by Eragon and the king's army attacked from the east. It was loud as the opposing forces hit upon each other. Swords and shields, spears, horses, everything. Blood flowed from where sharp metal cut into skin and muscle. The cries of the wounded soon joined the battle cries.

Eragon grabbed his bow and, from Saphira's back, sent arrow after arrow at the soldiers of Galbatorix' army. His mind was occupied with searching for enemy spell fire and their source. The Du Vrangr Gata found the first magic user. A magician whose will he broke quickly and, after extracting the most information he could from him, who he killed with a word of death. Then he killed the unprotected battalion. Dozens of men fell like puppets cut from their strings and the Varden cheered.

The catapults were doing great damage and magically protected but not the soldiers who used them. He controlled them and could destroy several catapults this way. The moment he came back to his sense of self he saw a dozen of their own fallen victim to enemy fire as a member of the Du Vrangr Gata had been killed.

He hunted magicians but they were clever and not engaging him directly. From another soldier he got answers. Galbatorix wanted him alive. Nasuada came to him and he was needed to fight at the front what he did. His and Saphira's heart and soul melded to new depths as they fought with sword and claws no differences between them in the rush of battle.

They fought side by side, like one entity. Eragon didn't know whose teeth it was, whose sword slay the soldier before him. They fought with claws, with sword and magic, hours upon hours. A dozen soldiers fell under his uttered words of ancient language and the Varden around him cheered. The battle seemed decided as a massive form appeared. A red dragon rose into the air, its rider cloaked in dark armour, the helmet concealing his face.

He sent a bolt of red light at the dwarven king and Hrothgar groaned in pain. The dwarven magicians fell first, their magic not enough. Hrothgar sank to his knees, until he also fell.

Saphira roared and viciously annihilated the soldier before her by biting off his head. With new vigour they fought off forces left and right, Zar'roc getting through magical defences like it were paper. In a moment of respite he got through it, he swung onto Saphira's back, taking to the air with her. There was no need for words between them. They lusted for revenge.

VANIR

The battle was long, harsh and brutal. Vanir had been working together with the magicians from the Du Vrangr Gata and some other magic users – not enough in his opinion – whose abilities ranged from mediocre to useful in battle. Vanir himself held the most skill and power, so he mainly protected everyone he could, with both magic and his bow. Elven speed and grace serve him well against the mainly human army. The soldier charging him never stood a chance as he decapitated him. The man beside him cried out as his mind was overcome though. He fell with a wet gurgling sound and didn't stand back up. The next wave of foot soldiers that had broken through their front rows attacked them. There was no visible end to them.

The massacre continued in this way, Vanir using ever resource at his deposal, sometimes using offensive spells to lighten the rows of imperials, sometimes shielding a fellow magician from deathly spears or arrows. Imperial soldiers lay dead to his feet and he could smell the blood staining the dry earth, amongst the dying lying in their own puddles of red liquid.

He shot an arrow at someone in imperial colours, focusing his mind and fortifying his barriers-

Pain.

Unimaginable pain.

The scream that echoed in the sudden stillness seemed wrong. Only then did he faintly register it as his own voice, cracking on the sound.

Another voice, anguished, joined his. They screamed into the smoke filled air, everything else became blurred. For a moment he didn't know who he was, it hurt so much. His whole being seemed like it was teared apart by it, the seams frayed at the edges, the pain a never ending loop.

Shaking.

A hand, grounding him, bringing him back to reality. Vanir growled, half in pain half in warning, at the human man shaking him. The human didn't back off, but he wasn't clad in imperial garb and neither did the mages around him attack him. Ally then.

"You alright?" the human asked.

"I.." he rasped out before he befell a coughing fit. Doubling over, the stranger's strength was all that held him up at this point. He tried again.

"Eragon…" he got out, gasping for breath. "Something is wrong. He's- he isn't-" he stopped, frantically searching for his bond. In his panic, he clawed at his own mental walls, heedlessly searching for the golden thread that connected him to the other.

_Where are you? Why aren't you there?_

The man had an alarmed look on his face. Strong hands held onto him and helped him walk into the direction that the dragons had vanished to earlier. Together they got to a plateau not far from the edge of battle, now a savage retelling of it, as the fighting had died down. The end of it has yet to be decided.

"The red dragon rider is gone. I saw him fly away on his dragon, towards Ûrubaen. Eragon though…" The man informed him on their way. It didn't help the panicked feeling settling in his gut.

Neither did it stop the images of _redsomuchredandpainandpanicassheinterfered-_

He breathed heavily, the fear overwhelming. It wasn't his own.

RORAN

After killing the twins that were obviously imperial magicians, he'd spotted the elf in the midst of battling mages. The elf had been alright, fighting with fluid grace that was almost cat like. Then, he'd started screaming, the sound anguished and overwhelming as the battle around them came to an end. He'd no explanation why the elf had been in pain. It had made no sense. The mages nearby had seemed equally baffled, but also frightened, fearing an unknown enemy. Roran had run to the elf, his need to help the elf deciding for him. The man noticed the unusual golden eyes, as the elf struggled with his words, his cousin's name escaping his lips.

Every thought on how the elf knew his cousin or how it was connected to this sudden attack, they fled his mind as he concentrated on the task at hand.

"Easy." He murmured as the elf struggled against him, trying on his own to get to the path up ahead, a half crazed look in his eyes. He didn't even seem aware of half of it and it worried Roran. The Varden needed every fighter they had, preferably alive, after this.

He heard the elf gasp, a moment before he pitched forward, nearly face planting on the rocky path upwards if he hadn't reacted fast and caught him.

"You're as stubborn as my cousin." He murmured, frowning in concern at the lack of response. The elf clearly was intent on reaching some invisible goal.

"Please." He sobbed. "I need to- he's not- he can't be-"

Slowly helping the clearly distraught elf up, they made it up to the plateau. Roran knew it was no use asking the elf anything, since he wasn't even conscious enough. Somewhere he felt his own fear at what would await them there.

Eragon had fought the other rider here and the red rider had left, but Eragon hadn't reappeared. What could have happened to delay him?

VANIR

Blood. So much of it, staining the ground and giving the claw marks a grotesque edge. His breath stopped as he saw the small form in the middle of it, next to the still form of Saphira. She didn't breathe.

Didn't move.

No.

Why?

"Eragon… Eragon!"

A mournful cry escaped him, as he rushed to the rider, lying in a field of devastation. Vanir didn't care about the pain from his knees as he basically fell on them beside Eragon who wasn't moving, wasn't there in his mind, like he was-

"He's breathing, thank the gods."

He gasped, checking with his fingers if the man was right. He was. The fluttering of a pulse gave him hope. It was weak but it was there. Now he could see the miniscule movements, of air being pumped into lungs. The tears that he hadn't allowed before were now freely flowing down his face. The fear that had held him in its grasp didn't recede though. It came from Eragon.


	5. Cold Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so long in the making I can't even explain!  
The thing is, my plot ideas a few years ago were so straight forward not involving anyone but Eragon. It was all just a thought: why not kill Saphira in some epic sky battle?...(yeah, it never happened. Well, I did. Murder her.)  
Anyhow, Roran found his way into this far more than I intended him to.

**5 COLD RAIN**

**RORAN**

"Listen to me. I will not lie to you. Who are you? Why do you fight? In this darkest of hours, we need to remind ourselves: There will be no light under a mad king's rule! We've lost many, but we'll loose everything if we don't stand up now and forge ahead. The historians won't remember you, but they will remember _us_ for freeing this land of its tyranny. What matters, is that I know you. I know you as the men who fought with me today. For our fallen brothers and sisters we fight even now to honour their sacrifice. It's not the end, I say. Saphira was our beacon of hope. Shall we simply let all our hopes shatter now she's no longer here? I say no! We need to show Galbatorix he hasn't won. Even without a dragon in our defence, he makes no move to attack us directly. He sends us his army of mortal men, like a coward! Lets draw our weapons again once the time comes. Let's raise hell together and pray for our dragon rider for he's still with us and he'll want his revenge. Let's kill a false king who's even now hiding behind his walls of stone!"

Cheers rose from the crowd and Roran watched the returning gleam of hope in many an eye. He stood silently at the side lines to observe the public stand of the Varden leader Nasuada. Next to her stood Orrin, the dwarf Orik and the elven maid Arya, to show unity in their appearance together. After Saphira's death, Nasuada had worked hard to hold the resistance together. Orrin had gotten cold feet at first from what Roran had observed. Nasuada had literally raised hell on him and told him exactly what would happen if he left with his tail between his legs. Roran was impressed how well she did under all that pressure, as he himself was still in shock over discovering his cousin unconscious and in terrible shape after the battle. Orrin had quaked in his boots at seeing them carry Eragon through the camp to a healer. You wouldn't expect it now by how convinced the surdanian king looked like he believed fully into the woman's words, but Orrin would have left the Varden and Surda with him if the small country hadn't been involved as openly in this war.

Nasuada was fast in delegating tasks to her commander and the higher-ranking officers to hold the rebellion together through getting the attention off the injure rider. It made Roran wonder why she'd let him see the disagreement between her and the surdan king in the first place. He was a nobody with nothing to his name other than his relation to Eragon.

The public speech had been to face the crowd and show solidarity, but also to stave off fears from embellished rumours. Saphira's death couldn't be hidden and the complete silence on that front the first few days had led to tales of all kind of ridiculousness. Roran couldn't find it amusing, the words spreading and leaving the men nervous, not sure of a continued victory for the resistance. He himself had no idea what would happen. All his hopes had resided in his cousin after all, to get Katrina back.

Which wasn't exactly fair. Roran had made up his mind long before knowing the true reason for Eragon's departure with Brom from Carvahall. He was going to get Katrina back with or without help. Somehow. The villagers were no longer needing him to get them away from the empire.

Eragon had been brought to his own lodgings two days after the battle, the healers at their end of their abilities. They'd healed all physical wounds, and still the dragon rider slept. Nasuada had asked him personally if he could keep vigil over his cousin, which he had agreed to almost on the spot. Eraon was family, and the orry hidden behind Nasuada's eyes betrayed her fear of an attack from the empire now that Eragon was most vulnerable.

Arya had told him in a quiet moment of taking up watch, that the loss of a dragon was worse than death for a rider. Her seriousness and the mournful look she'd shot in the direction of his bedridden cousin made it clear that she held a certain fondness for him, though it wasn't filled with more than friendship. Eragon would probably loose his mind once he awoke. If he hadn't already. The sad look shed shot the only other elf around the camp though had puzzled him. To be fair Vanir looked as dead as Eragon. His pale skin seemed translucent and his bloodshot eyes were radiating tiredness like all the life had been sucked out of him. The deep purple bruises beneath bleached out yellow irises didn't make the sight any better. Something was going on. The elves weren't forthcoming so Roran waited.

He reached his limit a week later.

The entrance revealed sudden light for a moment and just as fast hid it again as Roran entered the tent. The man looked at Vanir and sighed.

"Have you gone to sleep at all?" he asked.

At the elf's tired expression he sighed again. "I can watch over him now, at least for a few hours." The elf didn't move from his seat next to the bed. Roran nodded and took a seat where he could watch his cousin's unmoving form. Really, that elf was as stubborn as a mule. He wasn't even sure if elves needed sleep, but he guessed they did need it at some point because Vanir looked like he would keel over from lack of it. It's exactly what he told the elf. It unapproachable grin and a shake of the head, which was more emotion than he got from Arya.

"I don't need to sleep."

"If you say so." He quipped but otherwise stayed silent. The elf wasn't talkative as Roran had noticed the last few days, but that was okay, he didn't know what they would even talk about. Arya was mostly unapproachable, the only emotion Roran had caught her expressing was concern for Eragon or a puzzled frown filled with pity for Vanir.

Vanir's words proved themselves false when the elf could no longer stay alert, nodding off. After ten minutes passed with the elf fighting the sleepiness, Roran found it painful to watch on any longer and laid a hand on the elf's shoulder in reassurance.

"Sleep" he commanded. "He'll be safe."

He wasn't sure why he said it this way, but it must have been the right thing to say because the elf no longer fought his tiredness and soon fell into a deep exhausted sleep. Roran shook his head, being reminded of his cousin in the way the guy was so stubborn. Damn if these elves weren't growing on him. He chuckled at his thoughts.

Their silent vigil continued over the next days in much the same way. Roran counted the days, planning in his mind a way to go after the Ra'zac, knowing he would need a much better plan than just finding their hidey-hole and busting in. They were the king's personal assassins. It would be suicide to assume he could fight them one-on-one and win.

**???**

It burned. Everything burned. Like a raging inferno, he lost himself to the void which had opened and swallowed him the moment he'd felt her slip away. Had he died?

He knew the burning agony was his soul ripped into two, his mind torn to pieces. Her death cry echoed over and over in his ears until he didn't even know his own name anymore. Who was he? What was his purpose? His senses dwindled, the red and blue and brown surrounding him and changing to black, then white.

_Protectfightwin_

A voice echoed in his head, the words clear and not. He wasn't even sure if they were words, more like an after image of instinctive intent. Something inside him recoiled at the touch of the voice, the hurt still fresh and he tried to scream, to make it go away, because the emptiness inside him flared up again, drawing him nearer the void. He knew he would drown if he fell completely into it.

_Don'tletgostophurtingstopfightingstop_

He clawed at the emptiness, keening, wailing. Inhuman noises that held no sound, as he tried to shut out the voice. Another wave and he lost his hold on the bit of awareness he'd had, drowning again in an endless sea that was his sorrow.

There wasn't a clear determining shift between the darkness of oblivion and knowing he was. The voice whispered to him again.

_Don'tgiveupiamherestill_

His shattered thoughts ripped through the dark, barely making sense at all. He floated, aimlessly. The void beckoned him to give in, to simply stop. It promised relief from this wretched feeling of loss, of drowning.

_Dontthinklikethisdontyouremember?youcantgiveupdontgiveup…_

Why couldn't he give up? Who was he? The cold resurfaced and took hold of his soul, coating every thought in ice. The shards ripped through him and he retreated further.

Warmth. At first he didn't recognize it for what it was. He'd forgotten what it was, after all. Time wasn't a concept here. The warmth radiated from… somewhere.

_Followitfollowfollowfollow_

He listened to the voice. He was tired of being cold. _Light, _he thought, with clarity. There was light, and he found himself urgently following that light. The darkness clawed at him. He paid it no heed, single minded following the light, like a drowning man. Eternity, or maybe just a moment, passed until he found himself standing bathed in light. It was unbearable being this close to warmth again, but this time it didn't burn. He saw his reflection in the light, but that couldn't be right. Light didn't reflect like a mirror. Still, the image of him stayed, the sight strange and yet not. Should he look this way? The strange reflection smiled, a sad kind of smile, like it knew why he hurt so much inside. It disappeared and everything around him went dark, and he couldn't even think about the meaning of this because he felt himself lying on some surface, waking up.

Eyes snapped open, the stiffness in his limbs and warmth next to him strange, but reassuring. He was no longer in a strange timeless place. Neither was Saphira there to greet him, her presence no longer the bright light he'd come to take for granted. The rider felt tears well up in his eyes, the loss profound in his mind. Everything felt raw, sensitive, like a flesh wound that had barely gotten time to begin healing.

Beside him, he felt the elf stir. He'd known it was Vanir, didn't need to look to know it was him. How long had he been trapped inside his own mind?, he wondered. Somehow detached, he watched him now, blinking owlishly before his eyes widened and he stared at the rider. He took in the strange sight of him. The elf had dark rings beneath his eyes, his skin too pale to be healthy. Really, how much time must have passed?

They stayed that way, simply taking in the other.

Then his instincts kicked in as the elf moved. In the blink of an eye he let out an inhuman growl, the sound reverberating in his chest. His muscles tensed and held the elf in place, pinning him to the bed easily. His nails were sharp and scratched the vulnerable skin on the elf's wrists. He stared into frightened gold eyes and bared sharp teeth as another person entered the tent.

"Eragon?"

Roran had been on his way to watch over the unconscious rider to give Vanir some time to rest. The situation he found was not what he had been expecting. Eragon was growling, his nails digging sharply into skin drawing blood where he held the elf against the bed.

Blue glowing eyes narrowed and flickered to the man, and held no recognition at all. Another threatening growl reverberated in the silence.

* * *


	6. Moving Forwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here you have my frustration taking on 6k words of Eragon and Vanir's POV in turns, because I sat eons on the last chapter and couldn't decide what to do with the end. So I basiclly did nothing, told myself to get the phck over it already and move on.  
I moved on.  
This here happened after rereading the first chapters of book three.  
We are now in the plot of book three!  
I excuse myself for typos. I tried to get them all out.

**CHAPTER 6 - MOVING FORWARDS**

**ERAGON**

It was hard to get used to the emptiness where Saphira had been. His mind felt raw and vulnerable in a way he wasn't accustomed to. It hadn't even been more than a year since he formed a bond to the dragoness, but Eragon couldn't remember how it was without her. There was a life before Saphira, filled with the simple farm life he'd led with Garrow and Roran. It had been day after day of hard work, but it had been stable in a way that had been almost comforting. If time could be rewritten, he wouldn't necessarily go back to it though. Saphira had been... so much worth all the hardships that came with being a dragon rider.

Now though what was he? Another failure? One of many riders murdered in this war? He was alive, despite the low percentage of riders surviving what he had, but he felt dead inside. And it scared him not knowing how to continue now that his best friend wasn't there to guide him.

Saphira had been young, but her inherited knowledge had made her wise beyond her age. She had understood him. How often had her perspective, not tainted by social norms, been refreshing and valued? He desperately wished for her to be here. To ask, _why did you save me? Why am I still here?_

There simply were no answers to those questions. At least, not simple ones to explain why he healed faster than anticipated from a stab wound to the heart – he should have died. Eragon had been unconscious for a week, but alive and breathing. His battle with Murtagh left no visible scars on him. The name tasted bitter in his mouth. He wasn't sure what had happened, the memory was blurry. (His mind was only remembering pain at that point.) He was sure, the cold stare - empty of anything - and the blade between his ribs hadn't been Murtagh, the friend he had known. It hadn't been Murtagh, not really. Or had he been wrong after all to trust the man in the first place?

Why had he survived? He felt untethered without Saphira. Like he was still the farm boy from Carvahall instead of the experienced warrior.

Vanir's entrance ripped him away from his spiralling thoughts and he gladly allowed his focus to shift to the elf. After attacking him yesterday he'd slowly been updated to what had happened in the last five days.

The Varden hadn't yet moved forward. Nasuada had given a public speech to boost morale, but he doubted it would stop determined deserters. The situation was dire. So much centred on him being able to face Galbatorix in the end. He honestly hadn't thought about what that would mean once they laid siege to Ûrubaen but now it was another weight crushing him. Suffocating him.

Vanir stepped into his personal space on silent feet. Eragon was too exhausted to mind and allowed the brief contact of a hand on his shoulders as Vanir sat on the bed spread. He leaned into him and closed his eyes. Maybe he disliked the elf for being a prick in Ellesméra, but he couldn't deny the comfort he felt in his presence. Vanir wasn't treating him like he was made of glass. The elf understood when he needed space and when he craved comfort. Of course, it was mainly their shared link that attuned the elf to his needs. His presence along his thoughts was grounding. It hurt though as it reminded Eragon of the emptiness where she should have been. Though, if he hadn't someone to cling to, he would have gone mad with his grief, facing the emptiness without someone to anchor him.

Instead he concentrated on the present, trying to find his feet again. He couldn't let his negative emotions dictate him now. Her death shouldn't be in vain. Again he must've let his question transfer over their bond, because Vanir spoke unprompted, answering his thoughts.

"Arya and Lady Nasuada want to hold counsel in an hour. They would like to discuss further strategy with us."

"Have they told you anything?" he asked. The plan had been to take the battle to the capital - one city at a time. He wondered if Nasuada held to the old plans or of she would go back into hiding with the Varden.

He felt the elf shake his head. "_Munta_.", he said in his melodic dialect. The way he said it made it clear what he meant: nothing that the elf knew of.

He sighed and closed his eyes. They were sensitive to the light since he woke up. It had gotten better though, and he could pick up many details he hadn't been able to before. His eyes weren't the only change in him.

His attack had been an instinctual reaction, one he couldn't explain nor comprehend fully, beyond the screaming inside his head to _defendattackdontletthem-_

He had claws. His hands and arms had been covered in scales, the nails long and sharp and able to tear into skin and flesh with terrifying ease.

Eragon felt ashamed as he looked at the naked skin of Vanir's arms. There was no trace of his assault not even a scar but he could vividly remember the sight of red welling up from deep cuts. The iron smell of blood. Something in him rising to the surface and thinking of the elf as **prey.**

What had happened to him?

"Stop thinking so much."

He looked into golden coloured eyes, bewildered.

Vanir gave him a look that clearly read as someone long suffering, but inside their link he could read the worry that Vanir kept hidden outwardly. Their link was open on both ends and there was little they could hide. Maybe Vanir would be able to shield it completely from him, but he strangely hadn't since Eragon woke up. Maybe he acknowledged the other man's need for closeness.

"I know you feel lost and scared right now. But you need to let go of these thoughts... the what if... The longer you dwell on those thoughts the harder it will become to let go. I know I sound cold, I know. It's understandable that you won't want to hear what I have to say. We barely tolerated each other before. But I can recognize... what I did- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been such an ass."

The words got a snort from the rider. Even Vanir couldn't help the slight smile appearing on his own face and shook his head. "Uncultured plebeian." He muttered in disbelief. "That's what I get for apologizing to you."

Even stranger, Eragon actually felt better now. He couldn't understand how the prickly elf with his anti-human stance and dislike for him had changed so abruptly to the elf trying to comfort him. After another minute of thought, he let it go for now. He was too exhausted emotionally to question it.

The light atmosphere was broken up by Roran who'd come to collect them on his way to Nasuada. Eragon hadn't yet spoken to his cousin why he was here. They needed to talk, but it could wait.

The two women were awaiting them with equally dark looks. Eragon greeted them cordially and tried not to shift. He would never make the mistake of thinking women couldn't be equally as terrifying opponents as men. Obviously whoever thought otherwise had never met these two.

Nasuada was quick to cut to the topics at hand which he was thankful for. He'd never liked the political small talk of dancing around a topic.

"It's good to see you back on your feet Eragon. Now that you are all here we need to decide on how to proceed. My opinion stands, you should be able to decide where you'll be in this war now that your dragon was killed in battle."

He folded his hands behind his back, the blue scales still foreign as he traced them with his thumb. They were the same shade as hers...

His heart was a leas weight in his chest right now, then he shoved the dark thoughts aside. He straightened and looked his superior in the eye as he said: "My place is still with the Varden. It hasn't changed."

Lady Nasuada nodded. It seemed like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "For all that it's worth, my condolences. I can't imagine what you must have lost. If you had wanted to leave... personally I would've let you."

Her open admission was shocking. It showed the trust she put in him not to abuse it. His decision to stay was the right one.

"Thank you, but I'm not going to hide from my responsibility as a dragon rider."

"Then were going to need to speak about how to proceed." Lady Nasuada said. She was stepping over to the table with the map. Several flags andd pins marked strategies and points of interest as well as movements taken on both sides.

"My lady, if you'll allow me to take a horse and provisions. I came to the Varden in hopes of getting help to save my fiancée. Before I left, the Razac took her." Roran pleaded.

Eragon swiveled around tp stare at his couson. This was news to him.

"Katrina was kidnapped?!" he asked.

Roran nodded grimly. "Aye, and I'm going to get her back with or without help." He crossed his arms. "I know it's a foolish plan- it's barely a plan!- but I can't leave her in the hands of those things!"

Arya stood silently guard from the side. Eragon met her dispassionate gaze before he let his gaze wander back to Roran who looked ready to take the reigns and ride out into the empire alone if he had to.

"She is a valuable hostage." Vanir argued in Roran's favour. Eragon wasn't sure why it surprised him. Probably because Roran was a human and the elf held a very prejudiced opinion on humans. "Should the king decide to use her as a bargaining chip, not only Roran but also Eragon could become compromised."

"If we act fast we could free Katrina and kill two of the king's spies altogether. The Ra'zac are the main operators for his dirty work so if we could get them out of the picture he would be short two valuable assets." Roran concluded, quickly making use of his newfound ally in this.

Nasuada held her chin deep in thought. She looked between all three and saw the determined expressions.

"I'll allow it," she conceded finally. "but it's also a risk I wouldn't otherwise take. We can't lose you now, Eragon. The Varden are barely held together as is. How are you planning to do it?"

Roran smiled, for the first time since Eragon had seen him again. It was small but it was there born from the hope of seeing his beloved again. The chance to hold her in his arms soon if their plan would succeed.

Eragon vowed silently to do everything to make it happen.. because he didn't want to lose another part of his family.

**VANIR**

The Helgrind loomed like a black monolith over them. It cast its shadow over the still waters of the Leona Lake, Dras Leona only another shadow on the horizon. They'd taken careful measures to avoid the cities on their way. Thankfully they were free to choose a route along the edge of the Hadarac desert with two mages capable and strong enough to provide a steady water supply with Eragon's trick to make water rise to the surface.

Vanir could admit, the approach to magic the rider showed was starkly different to the elves'. Elves from Ellesméra looked for beauty above all else. Their ignorance to the outside world, and eternal life, they were like birds that stayed by what they knew and never flew over the self appointed lines. Vanir could see parallels now to his own views. It was uncomfortable to admit to himself, as it brought shame. How long had he thought the capital's elves to be stuck up and conceited because they looked down on his people? It had been bitter to swallow the words every time it was spoken in conversation. His people had been looked upon with wonder for their fascination with light. Their magical prowess had been whispered of with fervent awe and Calath had been named the city of origin because they hadn't yet forgotten who they were and what their legacy meant.

It had all burned long ago. The city and the image they had held. What had once been the jewel of the forest was just a hollowed husk of barely held together tradition and kinship. A group of survivors that were shunned from the rest.

Vanir felt the old anger rise up from his stomach. The other elves had done nothing to help them. Many of them had lost their families. Some had died from either loss or wounds sustained in the inferno. More than the anger was the sadness - the why. Why hadn't they helped them? Why had it happened?

Vanir had been half a century old. Not much in elven years. His sister had been barely ten, an infant. After their parents perished in the fire, he had been alone and scared. She had inhaled too much smoke. Their lack of medicine and healers had sealed her fate in the end. Vanir barely remembered the decade following her death. He had been trapped in his own agony, before he'd vowed to learn as much as he could. So he would never again be helpless.

Now he couldn't help the flashes of long buried pictures burnt into his mind as they made camp to the east of the Leona Lake. Eragon seemed caught up in memories too if the sweeping gaze was any indication. Roran was the only one of their group not spending time reminiscing.

The man was glaringly human to the elf. He had a heavy step and lacked the inborn grace an elf possessed. Not that he was clumsy, but different in a way that made it obvious to his sharp sight. The human held a raw strength in his hands and arms that was visible by his tanned skin. The way his muscles were developed. It was alien to him who had been used to pale slender elves with deceiving strength and graceful gait.

Roran used the flint stones with skilled fingers and practised ease. He was not what Vanir had thought. For all that elves held themselves superior, the humans were strong in their own way. He'd seen it in Eragon during their travel here, focused on the mission despite his own pain filling their mind space. Roran wore his love for Katrina on his sleeve, always speaking with fondness in his tone about her. The way he liked her smile or her eyes or the way her hair glowed in the sun. And still he had gotten his whole village to the Varden. Had put the needs of the many before his own. It was...an admirable quality.

Vanir glanced at where Eragon wiped down Snowfire. They'd taken four horses to make the trip. Eragon's eyes were of a rich earthy brown colour. Vanir found them oddly fitting to the man's headstrong character. The cat slit pupil made them unique, but Vanir wasn't put off by them. Nobody knew why Eragon had changed so drastically after Saphira's death.

Eragon looked his way and Vanir quickly avoided meeting his stare.

Using his mind to cast out their surroundings for possible dangers, he found only small rodents and other smaller life forms at first. The Helgrind was like a blank nothing, though. He couldn't see through the stone with his mind's eye and after another minute fruitlessly poking at it, he stopped and continued spreading his awareness around. Two rapid beating heartbeats registered. Surprised he zoomed in on them and noted, they were not only human but also frightened. He opened his eyes.

"Two humans, not far from us. They're not moving, and frightened." He told the cousins.

Roran looked to Eragon from his position near the fire. The rider looked at the elf. "How far?" he asked, because of course he would want to help. Vanir used his mind to look for the humans again, before sending the impressions over their link. It was the fastest way to do it. Eragon nodded with a contemplating look, saying: "They or someone else could easily discover us. It's not that far away."

Roran glanced between them bewildered. The elf stood up, slinging his bow over one shoulder and making sure he still had his dagger in its calf sheet. His sword was at his waist, just in case. Their shared mind space had given him an idea what Eragon was planning and he agreed. They had to at least look and find out why humans were there. If they were soldiers, they would need to kill them.

"Roran, you stay here." Eragon said. "I don't want to leave the horses where someone could steal them when I'm not looking."

The man grumbled but relented. Eragon could have tasked Vanir with this, but the elf was glad he trusted him to have his back while running into possible danger.

They were creeping around the flat terrain slowly, to minimize the noise from stepping on the dry rotten vegetation. It was still only a ten minute walk, before they saw them. Two naked forms, chained like cattle to a stone alter, the stench of half dried blood permeating the air.

Vanir could have gagged, the cruelty of humanity making his blood boil with his hate for them. He couldn't believe how they treated their own kin. It seemed barbaric.

_They're not harmed._

Eragon's relieved voice cut through the haze like cool water. He confirmed the other's observation for himself before he said, _they're probably the sacrifice for some religious cult._

_We should free them. If the Ra'zac find them, they're going to get eaten!_

_They'll know we're here. Your plan was to attack at dawn._

Eragon fidgeted from his hiding spot, clearly torn between doing what was right and what he rationally knew they should do.

_We can't leave them here. We can't. _His voice was firm and Vanir detected the empathy behind them, knowing he couldn't change the rider's mind, but he didn't want to. His own heart wasn't as cold as to just leave someone like this to such a fate. Their plan had been shaky at best, it wouldn't be detrimental to do this.

_Let's hope we didn't just sign our own death warrant with this. If it comes all back to us later, I swear, I'll kill you._

"Thank you, I've no doubt you will. Now, let's go." He said and flashed him a confident grin, leaving their cover to free the slaves. Vanir waited to make sure this was no trap, despite not having detected anyone in a five mile radius (not counting Roran). Then he helped Eragon.

The slaves were understandable shocked to find themselves rescued by what seemed to be two elves in the middle of the empire. One looked painfully young, which wasn't helped in any way by the ribs showing through the skin. The other had long red welts on his torso, possibly from a whip. Both reeked of old sweat and dirt.

"Thank you! Thank you!" the thin one sobbed as he fell to his knees before them. Vanir felt the man's bony fingers grab his boots and pant legs, like the man was trying to worship him. He felt disgusted by the notion, and pity to see someone reduced to this.

"Stay up, no need for such a display." He groused. His ears were aflame, they felt like they might burn. He wasn't sure what kind of expression he had, but the man scrambled back apologizing heavily after glancing up, so it must have been mistaken for anger.

Eragon was the one who diffused the situation.

"Do you have a place where you can go to?" he asked, showing he wasn't going to harm them, tone friendly. The man with the bruises from a whipping looked down. "Nowhere. Ragnar had been imprisoned for theft before the priest came. I was simply taken from my home and thrown into a cell. Protested too loudly against the new laws, or told the soldiers off one time to many. Who knows?! Doesn't matter, does it?"

The man seemed strangely relaxed, naked and with rope dangling from his wrists, standing in front of two ethereal beings. He continued after noticing he had their attention.

"Most people called me Cas. I was a blacksmith. Family business, but I wonder if I'll ever get back to it now that I'm essentially dead. Nobody comes back from these." He, Cas, gestured to the alter and the Helgrind in the distance. He shook his head, sighing. "I loved my craft. It's a pity, how the king forces every blacksmith to supply his soldiers for this war. Life wasn't bad. It coulda been bett'r, but it's life...why am I telling you all this?"

Vanir snorted. "By all means, continue. It's not like we don't share your sentiments."

"So why not join the Varden?" Eragom asked.

The dark haired man stammered, "The Varden?! Are you crazy?! That's not better than staying in the empire, not at all!"

"We know it's not the best solution right now, but the Varden won't kill you for holding your own opinion." Eragon tried to reason with the man, "They'll let you immigrate to Surda if you really don't want to partake in the war."

This wasn't exactly true, since they needed every able bodied man or woman to fight, but Eragon had enough sway to ask this of Nasuada. It seemed to calm down the man at least. He was still not happy about it.

"Ragnar, you have family in Kuasta, right?" Cas asked the thin red haired man. Ragnar nodded. "My aunt's side of the family came from Kuasta. They would let me live with them if I asked." His voice was that of a boy still in his teens. Vanir felt a new wave of disgust for the people in this city who'd thought sacrificing a child was right.

"Then you can either decide to go to your aunt's, or stay with us until we reach Surda." Another half-lie. They wouldn't go all the way to Surda, but they could leave them with the convoy traveling back and forth between the current camp of the Varden and the smaller kingdom.

The boy looked torn, probably knowing despite wishing to be able to go to his remaining family, that he had no way to survive the trip on his own with literally nothing.

"You could still go to Kuasta once you've gotten provisions and a horse in Surda." Eragon said. His brown eyes were portraying nothing but kindness. The slaves shared another look, before Cas spoke, saying that they would go to Surda. Vanir felt the way Eragon relaxed at the words, knowing how much it meant to the rider to have saved these poor souls.

He just hoped it wouldn't cost them later. They still needed to save Katrina and kill the Ra'zac.

The moon was at its highest point, a round orb shining down its cold light on the earth, a silent sentinel. Vanir had his bow ready, one swan feather arrow out and poised for shooting the vile creatures inhabiting the monolith. Cas was very loudly broadcasting his swears, having been roped into their scheme tonight. It had been a welcome surprise to know the blacksmith could fight with a sword rather well. Roran had been updated on the issue, and like his cousin, felt nothing but empathy for the two. Vanir had used the dried grass to quickly string it together into sturdy but rather simple clothing. The man now crouched no longer in the nude, but a long tunic with a string of woven grass closing it at the hip. The blatant display of magic hadn't made them uncomfortable, probably already assuming all elves would be versed in the arcane arts. Ragnar had seemed nervous though whenever the former rider's eyes had met his though.

"I know Eragon and I said we would cover our presence here, but _please stop_ using such language. You're rather _loud_." He hissed at Cas who promptly stopped his inner tirade. Vanir tried not to follow the need to strangle the human and set his sight back on the empty alter. They'd guessed the Ra'zac would come tonight to get their sacrifice. If they could ambush them here, they would still have their moment of surprise, which they'd otherwise lost by freeing the slaves. There was no guaranty they'd land with their lethrblaka and the two flying steeds were the greatest risk in this without a dragon, but Vanir was a great shot and Eragon was stronger than him now (which he'd discovered as he'd been pinned by a very feral acting dragon rider and didn't want to repeat). Together they would be able to fight one of them. If they weren't attacked by the other at the same time. Having Cas as a distraction mostly was a good way to split their attention between their attackers at least.

Vanir hadn't wanted to calculate their odds in this, really. Their was no number other than crazy to describe them.

_I see them!_, came the message over their link. Shortly afterwards, Vanir picked up the sound of a pair of wings beating the air. The shape of the lethrblaka was a dark shadow cast in stark relief by the moonlight. It descended until it was only thirty feet above ground, then stilled. Had the Ra'zac noticed?

Another second trickled by in tense silence, before the lethrblaka's clawed feet touched the ground. On Eragon's sign, the elf swiftly nocked the arrow and let it fly. It pierced the left wing and the lethrblaka shrieked. Cas jumped out of hiding, sword drawn, bravely into the fight.

Vanir shot arrow after arrow, before he was forced to retreat quickly or make acquaintance with the sharp and deadly teeth snapping after him. He had no time to look for the others. His eyes focused on the lethrblaka, bleeding blue-green blood from its side. The right wing was flapping wildly as it shrieked and charged him. He drew his blade, evading the beast by a hair's width, slicing along its side. It shrieked again. The sound made his ears ring. He clenched his teeth.

_Not much intelligence,_ he thought before he had to evade again. The fight continued this way. Vanir got in another stab at its side and leg, before the beak stabbed into his shoulder, the throbbing pain of it cutting through his thoughts. He gritted his teeth at the white hot pain, cutting off the worry flooding over the link. Now was not the time for Eragon to get distracted!

He jumped out of the way of the right wing, the lethrblaka now using it like a club. The thing was fast and several pounds more in weight. The wing colliding with his side would mean several cracked ribs.

The wet feeling of blood seeping through his tunic told him he'd been hit again. Also the flaring pain as the clawed foot sliced along his arm. He hissed and tried to minimize the damage by going out of the creature's reach.

The lethrblaka would use its wing again he realized, although the move left the beast wide open to him now. Quickly he used his opportunity. His blade cut through the leather skin. He had stabbed between the ribs and so the blade sank deep into the body. The lethrblaka keened, a high pained noise. Then it crumbled. Dead.

Vanir wrinkled his nose, as the body instantly started to decay, rapidly. It showed the vile magic flowing through this beast's blood. Magic wasn't good or bad, inherently, but the way it was used could lead to this kind of disastrous consequences.

Vanir turned around, to see Roran taking on the Ra'zac while Eragon used spell after spell to shatter the wards around it. He must have succeeded, because the next blow with his sword sliced through the body. The Ra'zac fell under the combined efforts.

The night was silent again afterwards, safe for the harsh breathing of Cas and Roran. Eragon and Vanir, too, were short of breath, the fight had taken its toll. Now that the adrenalin of the fight wore off, he felt tired, belatedly registering that his vision was swimming too. Huh. Everything was tilting to the left. Strange—

"Vanir!"

Brown eyes were looking at him panicked as he fell.

**ERAGON**

The elf was caught by the alarmed rider who'd seen Vanir sway, shortly before the elf's knees had given out.

He looked at the elf in his arms. His golden gaze was unfocused and he was slow to react to his frantic calling of his name. His shoulder bled a concerning amount where the lethrblaka must have tried to rip out a chunk of meat, and there was another large cut on his arm**. **He needed to stop the bleeding, or Vanir could die from blood loss. It didn't help that Eragon could literally sense the other's consciousness dwindling through their connection.

It felt so much like when Saphira had faded away..

"Roran! I need something to stop the bleeding!" he shouted to his cousin, his eyes never leaving the form of the wounded elf. He hadn't yet checked on Cas, but his panicked mind didn't even spare a thought to their newest addition.

Hands appeared in his vision and Eragon took the clean linen to press them against the wound. At the same time he used words of the old language to clean it, hoping it would prevent infection. Then he healed the wound, growing skin tissue and even repairing the torn muscle, slow steps to heal it the right way. He hadn't enough energy to use his own reserves without endangering them and needed to spread his awareness. He used the life of ants and a grass viper, without a second thought. Single minded healing the elf, he couldn't care less for the life he took.

Sadly, he had not enough energy to spare to help with the blood loss. The wasteland around them was dead, the stones in the belt had been used up in the battle of the burning plains and whatever energy he'd had after fighting one of the Ra'zac was gone. He felt dead on his feet and had to tell himself he wouldn't do any of them any good if he was farther exhausted. Vanir would live. He couldn't – should not – do more.

It wasn't reassuring.

"I'll carry him. You look as bad as him and need all your strength if we want to save Katrina tomorrow."

"The other raze will know we're here if he doesn't already. We need to attack at dawn. At latest."

Roran grimaced at his protest. "You're no use to anyone dead! Get some sleep, maybe Vanir will wake up until then. If not, Ragnar and Cas can stay with him."

Right. The slaves. He searched for Cas. The dark haired man was limping slightly but looked fine otherwise. He couldn't come with them, but he also wasn't dead.

"Fine." He acquiesced, because he really had no energy to argue. "We attack at dawn." He told his cousin.

Their trek back to their camp was filled with silence. All the while, Eragon checked his connection to Vanir, making sure it was there, glimmering brightly. Even if he knew that the elf would be fine.


	7. For Every Battle Won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We go and save Katrina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The characters took this chapter and ran with it? Because otherwise I can't explain the sudden existence of Cas, who I now have PLANS for, the use of Nasuada's POV, or the character development planned for her and Furry elf Bloedgharm. No, these two won't end up in a romance, at least I don't think so since I liked her with Murtagh. This chapter about killed me. I wrote most of it in a day, with lots of coffee and zero sleep, came back to edit it, and added some lil' details from original book three. I left much of it out too, because really? The third book had too much stuff that was non-essential and I want to focus this on Eragon/Vanir, the Vanir backstory stuff, the exploration of elven culture once I come to it and so forth...
> 
> Do I have too much planned for this? Why, yes, I do. Someone please get me a time turner. I need more time for this. At least now I am staying at home, and have time to write.

**CHAPTER 7 – FOR EVERY BATTLE WON**

**ERAGON**

Vanir came back to consciousness shortly before dawn, weak from loss of blood and the shoulder still not fully healed. Eragon had slept those three to four hours, on behalf of his cousin's stern look and threat to wait a full day if he hadn't. Eragon felt rested at least, and upon waking, decided to look after their new additions to the group. Ragnar had been staring wide eyed at them last night, clearly not used to battle wounds. The boy had been silent and was now helping bandage Cas who had gotten hit by the lethrblaka. The beast had torn the flesh in his calf with its clawed foot, leading to the limb from earlier. Eragon would heal it before they left the area on their way back, but now he couldn't chance his energy reservoirs. They were already low, and it looked like Vanir wouldn't go with them.

Of course the stubborn elf was anything but happy about this decision.

„Absolutely not! You're not leaving me here like-like some kind of invalid! I'm perfectly fine!" he said and tried to stand up, only to list to the side. Eragon hovered mid-motion, ready to help, but he saw the elf sink back onto the sleeping bag and relaxed. Vanir was still pale and his eyes held exhaustion in them as he glared angrily.

"I'm not alone. Roran is going with me."

Vanir scoffed, making his displeasure clear. „We were four people and barely dealt with one Ra'zac, how are you planning on winning this one with one human?" he asked, tone sarcastic.

"Maybe one human is better than one elf too stubborn to know when he's completely useless!" he shot back, only to regret it as Vanir crossed his arms before his chest. The link between them throbbed with hurt, before the elf closed himself off. Eragon flinched. His thoughtlessness would cost him his fragile friendship with the elf if he didn't try to rectify his words. "That's not what I meant…it's-"

Before he could get another word out, Roran interrupted them.

"The sun's coming up, Eragon. We need to go if we want to have the moment of surprise." His cousin said. He turned and saw that his cousin had his hammer and the borrowed armour from the Varden. Vanir wasn't looking at him anymore as he turned back to the elf. There was no time to apologize now, so he used their link and opened it to sent a single thought over it.

_I don't think you're useless._

He had no idea if it worked. The elf could have blocked him still, but Eragon didn't think so. Vanir could be as hard headed as him, but he was also taking his duty as bonded seriously. Vanir hadn't yet blocked the bond for longer than a few hours.

The former rider stood up, following Roran to the Helgrind. They searched the area for a path, Eragon's sharp eyes spotting the best path up to a plateau mid height. They came to a wall, smooth and as black as the rest of the stone structure. A dead end.

The sun shone in the sky, like a clock ticking steadily in the background, telling them time was running out.

It was then that his eyes saw it. The air around the wall seemed to... ripple? It was! But not in the same way as water, more of a sense that it was giving off waves. After a full minute of staring at it, Eragon decided that he was literally seeing the effects of magic. As he told his cousin exactly that, Roran said: "Could they have hidden the entrance somehow with magic?"

Eragon found that it made sense. He neared the wall, hesitated. Then he used his hand and tried to lay it on the stone. It went through. He laughed beneath his breath as he realized the trick. The wall was just an illusion to make them think this was a dead end. He'd been nearly fooled.

"Come on. It's not a real wall." He told Roran and stepped through. The inside was pitch black, and he touched a wall, and after a few steps n the other direction, encountered another wall. A narrow tunnel.

"Great, now what? We can't fight them in this darkness."

"Wait a moment. I could... _garjzla ven_." A small orb of light floated around them and up to their eye level. "Huh." Commented Roran. "That's a nice trick to have."

"It's magic." Said Eragon, slightly affronted of Roran's use of the word trick to describe great feats of a mystical power that only few could master. Roran rolled his eyes and the atmosphere felt lighter between them, filled with the familiar back and forth of banter like it had been as they'd both been young.

The tunnel was narrow, but opened up high enough to get a lethrblaka through. The tunnel quickly opened to a hallway, where two of them could comfortably walk next to each other. Then it branched off into three separate ways. Eragon tried to sent his mind out, careful not to alert the Ra'zac. He couldn't sense heir presence with his mind, but last night he'd noticed again, that their presence left a lack of any kind of presence at all. An emptiness, that was as revealing as if they had a presence to begin with and unique to them alone. He nodded at the right one, ready to check for either prison cells, Katrina tied to a chair to be tortured, or the remaining Ra'zac.

He didn't get that far.

Suddenly the lethrblaka tackled him, screeching like nails on a slab of stone, with the force of a charging bull. He got the breath knocked out of him, his new instincts screaming at him to defend. Nails sharpened to claws and scales spread up his arms as his mind rendered into focus.

His back burned from the impact with the ground. Eragon let out a growl, inhuman and echoing off the walls. There was no time to look for Roran as the beak tried to gauge out his eyes. He twisted away from it. His sharpened nails scratched where he could reach its vulnerable underbelly. Blood gushed out of the wounds, blue green and smelling of rot. He gagged. The beast gave another screech and resumed with renewed vigour its attack on his face. He scrambled away and searched for his sword. It had been knocked away. He saw it to his right. Quickly he reached for the blade. His fingers touched the heft. The lethrblaka had noticed his intention and stormed at him again. It left bloody splashes on the ground. He whirled around just in time for the blade to stake the creature through the chest.

"Let's...never...do this again." Roran got out between heaving another breath. The Ra'zac laid motionless at his feet, his head caved in.

They looked for keys and found none, so they went through the middle tunnel where the lethrblaka had come from. After some time the dark tunnel was filled with the light of glowing moss, the plants winding their way up the stone. The air was damp and cool. Eragon detected a slight decline in their path like they were going down. It got colder the deeper they went and their breath became visible. He hoped they would fond Katrina alive, for Roran's sake and his own. Katrina didn't deserve to die in this hole.

Finally, the tunnel opened up to rows of doors, the wood covered in mould and one was completely rotten through. They checked every door, finding nothing but cobwebs, a lot of bones from previous prisoners that had either died or gotten eaten. The final door held Katrina. Upon hearing the door open, the girl pressed herself further against the wall, her eyes no longer used to the bright light. Eragon remembered that the small orb of light was still there. It was a spell that barely needed any energy, so he'd forgotten about it.

"Who's there?!" she asked, frightened. He saw that she wasn't hurt beyond the red chafed skin of her wrists and a bruise covering half of her face. They obviously had taken care not to hurt their high profile prisoner in fear of the king's wrath if his only leverage over Eragon should die.

"Katrina." Roran whispered, loud enough in the silence for her to hear. She stilled. Nearly inaudible she whispered his name. Roran was crying tears of joy as he embraced her, after so long. They held each other, like both needed reassurance that this was real, that the other was there.

"You're here."

"I'm here. I won't let you go, I promise you. We're going to get you out of here."

Eragon turned around, to give them a moment of privacy. Would he find such love, he wondered. Roran and Katrina clearly loved each other, and he was happy for his cousin to have found the one he wanted to marry, but he couldn't imagine himself leading a life where he worked on a farm or as a craftsman, with a wife and children of his own. Despite the way he'd pictured it before, he couldn't see it now, it wasn't for him. Arya had been clear in the way she'd refuted his try to court her. Also, he was bound to another elf on a level that would make possible future partners uncomfortable. Saphira had been a friend, their bond purely platonic, but Eragon had sensed from the start, that his bond to Vanir wouldn't be. He'd fought against what it would mean, had tried to stay away from the elf, but the magic woven into their bond made it impossible. It drew them into each other's orbit like stars circling the sun. What was the bond and what was his own thoughts talking?

He shook his head, like he could shake off the thoughts as if they were cobwebs. The search around led to no new discoveries. Another cell showed him the cold body of Sloan. The man had been dead for some time, his corpse stiff as he prodded it. He didn't feel bad to se the man dead, although a sliver of remorse stole its way into his heart. The man had only tried to protect his daughter, and even if he hadn't been nice to Eragon, he represented a pat of hi childhood. Eragon closed the door so he was no longer looking at the corpse.

"I found Sloan." He told Roran sombrely. "He's dead."

Roran closed his eyes for a moment, likely to pay his respect to the dead man, since he would've been their father in law once Katrina and Roran married. The former dragon rider let him and turned to Katrina, now out of the cell. Her hair was a mess, but she gave off a shaky confidence as she met his eyes.

"Nice to see you again, even if I'd hoped for the circumstances to be better." He said. She smiled wryly. "A shared sentiment. Thank you for making sure this one hasn't gotten himself killed on his way here."

Roran gave an annoyed grumble of "Eragon's as bad as me!", that was ignored. Eragon laughed.

The sun was a red ball of fire, low on the horizon as it sank steadily. They'd been gone far longer than he'd thought. Time had been warped inside the Helgrind. Katrina's eyes had accustomed to the floating light orb and the dusk was not as bright as the daylight so it wasn't needed for her to close her eyes. She looked at the sky filled with reds and purples like she had given up hope to ever see it again. Roran's expression, Eragon observed, was soft as he looked at her. He was clearly hopelessly in love.

Eragon hid his smile, and slowly led them down the stone monolith, back to where Vanir was probably planning to murder him. Their connection had been silent during the day they'd been inside and now he still didn't sense anything beyond a general impression of Vanir being cross with him.

Ah, well. He would proof to be a responsible human and deal with it later. They had Katrina back and his cousin was happy.

Katrina, Roran and Eragon were greeted by relieved faces and the smell of a hearty stew cooking in a pot over the fire. Ragnar and Cas were seated side by side with plates and spoons in their hands. Vanir was sitting atop his bedroll, a lot less pale then last time they saw him. He still looked tired but they wouldn't need to delay their return. This wasn't the only thought Eragon had but he was quick to hide the burst of complicated emotions because he wasn't in the right mind-set to deal with it now. He felt exhausted and depleted after using his magic in the last several days with just his own reserves and the use of small animals. They would need to return. The week long travel was going to be longer if their luck ran out and they needed to hide from the imperial soldiers patrolling the main routes. He hoped they wouldn't be forced to go into the Hadarac desert because the way he was now he wasn't sure if he could continue using magic to care for their water supplies.

Roran led Katrina to one of the unoccupied bedrolls and started rummaging for some leftover bread for her to go along with the stew. He held it out to her and she took it thankfully. Maybe tomorrow they could all wash off the grime in the Leona lake before they left. Eragon decoded to take inventory of what they had left of their provisions. They would need more if they wee indeed forced into the desert.

Afterwards he followed his insistent stomach growling and helped himself to the stew. The hot air was trailing lazily above the simmering liquid and the smell was mouth watering to the hungry ex rifer. It was a simple meal where the flavour came from the added spices. Since travelling around all 9f Alagaësia had given Eragon insight on different and exotic meals but he preferred the simple dishes he knew from his childhood in Carvahall. Although if he could he would probably add one or two sweet dishes from his time in Ellesméra. The fresh berries added to most desserts gave it a less cloying taste that he preferred.

He barely batted an eye at the scales covering his wrist and travelling up his arm in a spiralling pattern as he took the spoon Roran offered him. Katrina though gasped in shock.

"Eragon your arm! What happened to you?!" she exclaimed.

He looked up. Self-conscious he pressed the appendage to his body. Was it really as hideous that people were shocked to see him now? He felt conflicted since he had quickly gotten over the shock and accepted it as part of himself. His problem lay with the deadly claws his hands would transform into in a dangerous situation. The scales were more like the pointed ears and elven looks. More a mark of beauty than his body turning into a weapon.

"Katrina let him eat. Its rude to ask a starving man their life story."

"Nah. She would have known the moment we were back at the Varden." He gave her an apologetic smile. She meant no offense by her outburst. "I left Carvahall because I found a dragon egg and it hatched for me making me a dragon rider. Brom taught me everything he knew of the riders but the Ra'zac killed him too. I travelled to the Varden and then to the elves in Dû Veldenvarden to learn more about my legacy."

The two humans were listening in rapt attention to his tale he noticed.

"The first great battle between the empire and the Varden was on the burning plains." He continued with his voice lowering as he recalled the blood shed. He had enjoyed it and it ashamed him how shallowly he'd taken lives. His sleep was light nowadays because he didn't need much of it and because he feared confronting his dreams. "What we didn't know was that the empire has a new dragon rider."

"The red dragon! I saw it fly over the city once!" Ragnar exclaimed excited while Cas looked grim. Everyone looked at the red headed boy who blushed as bright as a tomato.

Eragon continued.

"Thorn. He's young but the king uses his vile magic to make him grow quickly into adulthood. So I confronted them in battle… unbeknownst to me the rider was….had been a friend. He knew how I fought. We were even in battle. Our fight could have gone for hours this way. In the end he was controlled by the king and I lost what was most dear to me. Saphira. She…"

He couldn't say it. He had been useless he knew. He'd failed her. He'd been the reason she was dead. Ot was wrong that a rider could live but a dragon could not if one of them died. She should have lived.

"She was everything to me."

He stopped again as the blurred memory rose to the surface. He felt the sword pierce through his armour again. The memory he could remember repeated like on a loop. Again and again. And again.

"She…I cant-"

The sword.

The pain.

Her echoing roar as she felt him slipping. He had been bleeding out. She- she had felt him bleeding to death.

Blood soaking the ground and the vacant eyes of his brother.

He breathed in and out and air wouldn't come. It was like trying to breath underwater and you only found yourself drowning. _She was dead. Gone!_ His mind screamed at him. Or was he screaming?

The touch to his shoulder burned him and he tried to get away. His bowl of stew landed somewhere. He was focused on the feeling of the hands grabbing him. He wanted them to stop- leave him alone! He couldn't breathe!

„She's dead!" he screamed. It felt like he screamed because his throat was hoarse and raw. He didn't hear it. His ears were full of water and he was drowning, wasn't he?

A voice was whispering to him. It was her, trying to calm him. _Calm down. It's alright. It's not your fault-_

It was his fault. Eragon wanted the hands to stop touching him- STOP!

„I failed! I failed-„ he raged. His claws were back and his back itched and he couldn't breathe-

Darkness.

**NASUADA**

It had been a gruelling week for Nasuada. Her efforts to make a new strategy based on their forces after the battle of the burning plains revealed to be a herculean task. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cursed this much, nor the migraine plaguing her right now. Tiredly, she rubbed at her temples, her eyes turning back to Jörmundur. The man looked at her, telling her of their options. Like she wasn't all too aware, she thought. They should have all retired to get some sleep five hours ago. Instead they'd held counsel with Orin and Arya, as well as the delegate of the urgals. The dwarfs had sent an official letter regarding the election of a new king. She had no choice but to sent Eragon once he was back. Dwarfs were the most traditional folk she knew in all of Alagaesia. To their luck, Eragon was part of the Durgrimst Ingietum.

The tent flap opened, letting in the dying sunlight for a short moment. A messenger entered. The boy searched until he found her, promptly falling into a salutation, his tone clipped and precise as he told her that some southern tribesmen pleaded for an audience with her.

"Let them through. I'll see to them shortly. Have they stated their business?" she said.

The boy shook his head. Jörmundur next to her frowned. "Their routes are nearby, but we haven't blocked their trades yet with our troop movement, and they never said outright whose allegiance they followed."

She nodded, familiar with her father's people. The southern and eastern traders, nomad tribes, held no recognition of the empire's borders, or their king. Galbatorix had left them to their own devices since they were only there to trade spices above other things. As long as coin came into the empire's chests it seemed the king couldn't be bothered with them.

Why would they want an audience with her, she wondered now.

Nevertheless, her talk with Fadavar was exactly like she had expected it to go. He talked down on her, in not so subtle words that made even Jörmundur bristle with indignation, and she listened to his demands for her to acknowledge her connection to her people and split the Varden's gold to give a percentage to the tribes. She had to hold back her own furious outrage at these demands, recalling no help from them after all as her father founded the Varden and led them into battle against the army of Urgals under Galbatorix control.

In the end, she made it clear that the Varden wouldn't part with their resources without an offer in return of equal value; the tribes following Fadavar had to fight in the upcoming battles or otherwise assist the Varden. Fadavar had been less pleased about this, but he'd conceded. His gold armbands and the long tied back hair with the feather of a red tailed hawk marked him as leader of the two tribes outside this tent, but she held the allegiance with the elves and the dwarves.

**VANIR**

Vanir woke first, accustomed to waking with the break of dawn and sensitive to the unfiltered light of the sun. Since leaving the forests he'd called his home for over a century, he'd felt her rays of bright light tickle his form, rousing him from his light elven slumber. Like many times before he was surprised for a moment not to find himself beneath a roof of leaves. Instead, the brightening sky greeted him and a fresh wind caressed his skin when he left the cocoon of his blanket.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers overnight. He left to find a secluded spot to relief himself. Roran was awake, having had the last shift of guard watch. He nodded curtly in acknowledgement as Vanir brushed past him.

The elf went through their plans for today. They needed another horse, if they could get two it would be even better. Also, clothes. The two former slaves couldn't go around in just crude grass loin clothes. The tunic had been a patchwork job at best and the thing was slowly unravelling. Vanir admitted that he had only basic understanding of these things, never had he bothered to learn how to weave fibre of all kinds to make stunning dress. He could quicken the process of hand weaving a tunic from lamaré, cotton, wool, or any premade fibre, but it would never be as good as the ones made by those who mastered this craft and excelled at it.

He returned and stepped over to Eragon. The man was still asleep, buried deep into the blanket and his limbs tightly packed together like he'd tried to crawl into his shell if he were a snail. He looked adorable, thought Vanir. His sleep was as light as an elf's nowadays, but it was troubled with nightmares. Vanir was relieved not to have detected any nightmares tonight. The ex-rider needed some sleep. His sudden bout of shouting, caught up in the most terrifying moment of his life, had frightened Vanir. He wasn't afraid of Eragon, but the way Eragon hadn't been able to hear any of them until he'd simply passed out, gasping for air.

What if the ex-rider had such an attack in battle? Vanir hoped it was just this once, but he logically knew it wouldn't be. Many children that had survived the fire of Calath, his home, had suddenly gone still, the memories making them shake in fear, but unable to move, or they'd sobbed for their friends and families, the ghost of the inferno making them shy away from a simple flame, making them break out into hysterics.

The reactions were different but at the same time they told the same story, of an inferno burning itself through a city and into the souls of their children, leaving behind scars that never quite healed.

Vanir shook off his sombre thoughts, deciding to wake Eragon. He called the ex-rider's name softly and soon gazed at warm brown eyes, blinking from sleep. His own eyes were entranced by the sight of sleep mussed hair and cream coloured skin, as the sun slowly ascended on the sky, making the hair glow like it was spun from gold. Vanir swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He forced himself to look away, the urge to move overcame him as his thoughts raced without any direction. He was at a loss at what to do. He knew the other was aesthetically pleasing and Eragon had been attractive for a human rider, so why was he shy now? The elven features bestowed upon Eragon had made him even more attractive, which wasn't really fair, he thought. Exotic, with brown eyes and light brown-blond hair.

His looks aside, he'd never let it affect him this much, because he had hated humans. All humans. That had changed though hadn't it? Was it that? In his heart he knew it was more. Eragon had changed too. The man was young, so much younger, but he couldn't compare his own age to Eragon's this way. Elves needed more time to mature, and then they stayed eternally youthful, and were slow to change in their mind-sets. Eragon was considered an adult, in human years. Would it be so wrong to consider it?

Vanir batted away the thought, angry with himself. He hoped Eragon hadn't been able to listen to him berating himself over an inconvenient attraction.

They ate breakfast.

Deciding who went into the city was not easy. Roran wanted to go, because he was worried his cousin needed more time to recuperate, but Vanir could see he was not necessarily happy to leave Katrina out of his sight. Katrina was fine staying at camp with the former slaves and Eragon, but the ex-rider wanted to go since he'd been to Dras Leona before and knew a good trader for their needed food. In the end they decided to sent Eragon and Roran, since this way he and Eragon would be able to communicate through their link, should something happen. Vanir wasn't happy to see Eragon depart without him again, especially as he'd complained about back pains and itchiness the whole time they held their breakfast, but Vanir had been unable to talk the ex-rider out of going to Dras Leona. So he watched him go, worried.

**ERAGON**

Dras Leona. The last time he'd been here had been with Saphira and Brom. Eragon remembered the time spent with Saphira at the Leona Lake happily. It had been fun to dive into its depths on the back of a dragon, flying over it and playing in the water. He couldn't remember another time he'd had as much time just to themselves, to have fun like this, which was sad. Their time had been cut short after picking up their duties and fighting for the Varden. In a way, it had robbed them of just enjoying the bond that had existed between them.

Roran looked around curiously after they'd passed the gates unnoticed. The stream of travellers was big enough for two men in dirty travel garb to slip through. The sword and hammer on their belts was not an unusual sight, since even before the war. More people saw the need to arm themselves now, though, as he let his gaze travel over a group of merchants with haggard looking ponies carrying their backs. The sturdy small animals had their necks bent tiredly to the ground, and their hooves dragged through the dirt littering the street.

"Watch out for thieves." He advised Roran after spotting a kid with bony fingers help herself to the gold of a man clothed in rich embroidered garb. The man never noticed the long fingers taking his gold, too engrossed in a heavy necklace made of expensive looking jewels, the metal glittering in the sun and shining brightly on the dark satin sheet. He smiled as he saw the girl get away safely, feeling pity for her. She shouldn't have to resort to stealing just to survive another day. In Carvahall, nobody would have let her live on the streets. Children whose families died would have been taken in, he was sure. He couldn't see Horst or Elain letting him or Roran starve if something should've happened to their uncle. Roran would've learned to help in the forge and Eragon would've either followed in his steps too, or he would've been useful to help around the house with the tasks that needed muscle, and strength to accomplish.

His cousin acknowledged his words and made sure to have his eyes on the gold they carried with them. It was fortunate that Eragon could spy the possible thieves beforehand, his senses alert. His mind gave him the image of a tapestry, the minds of the people flowing like water around them.

The food was easy to get, Eragon haggling for a better prize but in the end he had to settle for a compromise. The trader grumbled as the gold was in his hands. Apparently the influx of people meant an increase in guard activity. They also got the information that the shipments from cities along the coast had broken down completely, because the king had isolated them from trade. They were no longer allowed to export anywhere.

"How are they going to live without trade at all? The coastal cities need the wheat imported from the east, the same way many spices come from the caravans travelling along the eastern routes. The people are going to protest if he starves them." Eragon said. The merchant laughed bitterly.

"Yeah, right. Like the king cares for his people. We're helpless against the Varden, and our benevolent king- what are you standing here, eh? I have to work!" and he rudely ended the short talk. Eragon understood he had feared being overheard. Dras Leona seemed to have ears everywhere. They would need to be careful.

**NASUADA**

The elves came on white steeds with fluttering long manes, their beauty matching their riders'. Wild and untamed with an air of mystery surrounding them.

Nasuada approached the leader of their group shrouded between her Nighthawks. The discovered spy in their ranks had rattled her men and Garven had insisted her to utilize the full guard today. She agreed with the safety measure. Another blow to the Varden like the one that had bene dealt to then on the burning plains and they could just as well surrender. She swallowed the proud woman inside her and took up her mantle as leader of the Varden. She was a figure head now and no longer her fathers little girl who could go on small adventured around Farthen Dûr. It meant a responsibility to the people.

Bloedgharm was cordially introducing himself and his looks threw stares from onlookers. She could understand. He was unlike the elves shed come in contact with previously but her visage was schooled into a mask befitting a meeting between political figures. Her father had believed in training her as his sole heir despite their tribe customs not allowing a woman the rights to become a clan leader. She would honour him by following his teachings and stay true to them. She played the political game even if it disgusted her sometimes.

Bloedgharm looked around her with barely hidden suspicion.

"I was of the opinion that we would be greeted by the argetlam himself. It is an honour for us to guard Eragon shade slayer and Saphira bjaartskular." His tone was respectful but a hint of accusing swung with it. She gave a polite nod.

"Your arrival hasn't been scheduled for one concrete day you have to understand. Eragon had to depart rather abruptly for an important mission. It has top priority."

The elf showed his sharp teeth and his slit yellow eyes glittered dangerously.

"I trust your judgement my lady. Still I find it jarring not to be informed of this." He spoke. He obviously awaited more cooperation from Nasuada's side. She had to threat carefully how she would deliver the news of Saphira's death. She wasn't sure how to formulate it.

"We can accommodate you for now until he returns. Lets move this discussion to a more private setting." She offered.

Bloedgharm nodded and signalled for the other elves to follow him. She turned on her heel and walked back into the heart od the Varden camp. Her tent was as unassuming as the other two dozen around it. Should they get attacked they were at lead tin no danger of hers getting singled out. A blue and black scarf was tied to one side of the entrance. Otherwise the tent was only slightly bigger than the standard double one and could have been the mess hall or the weaponry. Her guard split up, one part outside while four followed them inside.

Bloedgharm watches the humans around him with a curious stare. Rhen his attention snapped back to her. She didn't sit down but stood tall. She wouldn't show weakness while revealing their greatest disadvantage.

"I wasn't truthful to you."

"Explain."

"The battle at the burning plains took their fair share of victims and while it is a fact of every battle fought, we lost Saphira. She died at the hands of the king's own dragon rider."

The look on Bloedgharm face could be described as somewhere between shocked and furious. He growled low in his throat like a cat and stepped up to her until he was inly a foot away. She noticed that he was taller than her. The nighthawks drew spears and swords warning the elf to try anything. They wouldn't hesitate. He seemed to realize his error and breathed in. As he exhaled his body forcibly relaxed and he stepped away slowly. He eyed the spears with a sneer.

"You're playing with fire my lady, if you think you can deceive our queen like this." He said. She shook her head.

"Its neither my attention to deceive you nor hold secrets against your people. This war can be won as long as Eragon lives on."

"Is he of sound mind still? I know the stories. Few riders experience the loss of their partner of geart and soul and lived. They lost themselves or died."

"I wouldn't have sent him on a mission if he were not able to listen to reason." She said. He seemed glad to hear this. Maybe not all was lost yet. If she could convince the elf, she wouldn't lose their help completely.

"I'm going to make my own opinion on this. Until then me and my people will stay. The queen has already taken matters into her hands and moved our people into this war. All we can do now is follow you but should this hope prove false I will hold your responsible for every death you've indirectly caused."

His words didn't inspire fear in her. She knew this all too well. Shed fully known the weight that would be on her shoulders and the backlash of a failed revolution. She wasn't sure what she would do then but she couldn't allow herself to think like this. She would not fail. The Varden had to win. They had to.

"Are you threatening me, elf?" she asked and lifted her chin to provoke him.

"I'm just making my opinion known to you. Isn't that what makes you superior to the empire? Free will? The freedom of opinion, of thought?"

"Thoughts can be dangerous if wielded carelessly." Was all she said. He smiled at that.

"You don't strike me as someone who would throw it around then like one would toss around sweets." He said with one last smirk and left the tent. She looked confused to her nighthawks. One lifted an eyebrow. Apparently she wasn't the only one.

_Elves_, she thought, _were just strange._


	8. Strong of Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Another 5k chapter for you. I needed some time to get this where I wanted it to go, since it deviates from canon in some places. I wanted to portray the effect imprisonment had on Katrina. Like wtf Paolini? She wasn't affected at all in the book, and probably pregnant already?
> 
> Also some Eragon POV again. He is friends with Vanir, but they haven't acknowledged their mutual feelings yet. I want them to get together too, lmao. Thanks for reading this and leave a review if you wish.
> 
> I'm sorry for the typos.

**CHAPTER 8 – STRONG OF HEART**

**RORAN**

The two cousins returned with less supplies than they'd wanted to get. On another note, they did get a nice deal out of the owner of two nice stallions. The beige and brown horses were easy to handle. They were still young and fit, but already broken in and would fair well on their return to the Varden. The supplies would hold for the week long trip if they hurried a bit. Eragon could use magic if their water skins ran dry, so there was one less worry for them.

They had hoped to get more information on the overall opinion on the war, but not everyone was willing to speak openly in the presence of imperial soldiers. Some were like that merchant and actually told them to fuck off. So they simply left shortly after acquiring the horses.

Eragon had still grumbled, but even he couldn't be negative about it. Roran would have stayed for more supplies if Eragon hadn't tugged at his arm and pointed at the guards. They were eyeing them with suspicion. He'd hidden his ears, but his eyes were obviously not human. Roran found it disconcerting to look at how the pupil was no longer round, but slit like a cat's.

Camp was broken down, the bedrolls back on their pack horse's back, the fire extinguished and the cold ash scattered to conceal every trace of them having been here. Vanir was beside his grey mare, controlling the saddle. The elf hadn't sat idly while they were gone, cleaning their cooking utensils, packing everything tightly together.

The ground where their fire pit had been was covered in fresh vegetation. Roran marvelled at the sight. Magic was still wondrous and new to him. His mind couldn't help replaying the moment of the elf humming a melodic tune, the light green and yellow grass growing from the dead ashen ground. It now looked like the grass around it. No trace of them ever being here.

Eragon had given the two horses to their added travelling companions. Then he'd helped with the tasks left at hand, looking like he'd never passed out from a panic attack the evening prior. Roran though saw the slight pallor to his cheeks and how he was drawing in his shoulders slightly. There were many questions swirling around in his mind, why hadn't he seen his cousin was hurting? Well, he thought, seeing Vanir walk over to the rider, maybe Eragon wasn't alone. The elf clearly cared for him, and Roran was glad to see his cousin have a friend to lean on.

It was Katrina that worried him, sitting on the rocky outcropping, with her back to him, silent. She was drawn into herself more since hearing of her fathers demise. He wished he knew what he could say to make it better. He had respected the butcher, even after betraying him to the empire. The man had wanted to protect his daughter. His methods hadn't always been the right ones, but Roran had learned that you couldn't always do the right thing. If you wanted to protect someone, you had to fight for them. If you fought, someone else was going to be hurt.

He approached her. Sitting next to her he reached for her hand. She evaded his touch, tense. Miserable. He considered if it was because of him. He hoped not. He wouldn't know what to do if she left him now.

"Katrina? Is everything...alright?" he asked.

She stayed silent, but then she sighed, her shoulders sagging and her arms hugging her body. She looked small like this, like she wanted to vanish.

"I don't know." She said. Her voice was morose. "What's going to happen now? I've got no home...no family...nothing!"

Roran heard the tremble in her voice. She was only one step away from crying, and he never wanted to make her cry. Quick, he said, "Let's not think like that. You're a strong woman. You'll find something to do."

„Easy for you to say! You've taken the village and gone to the Varden. You've proven to be a leader. Me? I sat on my hands and let myself need to be rescued! Like a child, I jump at the sight of a mere shadow now. I'm not worthy to be your wife!"

She tried to hold back her tears. Even now she was too proud to allow herself to cry. Roran cradled her in his arms, wishing to console her. He'd always liked her strength, but he wanted to tell her how it was alright to cry, to let it out and to let others help her, because he wouldn't view her differently for this. He could understand her pain. He'd lost his father too, his home. He just hadn't had time to think too much about it.

„You are," he said. „You are more than worthy, Katrina. After all this time, and you could have broken, but you did not. That's not someone who's weak. Hush. Don't cry. No matter what happens I'll always return to you. Stop beating yourself up for things beyond your control."

Her tears were rolling down her face as she shook with the force of her sobs. He let her cry into his chest. His arms held her protectively and he felt enraged that she'd been taken from him. She had to endure so much because she chose to be with him. First her father had renounced her. Then she'd been kidnapped and now she had to hear that her only family was murdered. She thought she wasn't worthy of being his? He found it absurd. She was ten times as worthy in his eyes.

They stayed like this until she had calmed down, her body resting in his arms and her sobs dying down to weak hiccups. He said nothing, simply holding her and taking comfort himself from her presence. Roran had missed her so much. He'd lain awake at night, thinking about her. Now she was here and he wouldn't let her go ever again. She was mistaken in believing that he wouldn't want her. There was nothing he'd want more in life that her by his side.

Slowly drying her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress, she gave him an embarrassed smile.

"I'm such a mess.", she said. He looked at the dirty garment that smelled of weeks spent imprisoned, the matted hair and reddened eyes with dark circles beneath. He shrugged.

"You're beautiful Katrina."

She giggled, the sound like bird song to his ears. "I'm smelling like a pig!"

He shrugged again, grinning. "What can I say? I'm in love."

And wasn't that the truth? What he would do for love? Eragon's mother had been pregnant and still traveled all the way to Carvahall so her son would be safe from his father. She must have loved him very much, even as an unborn child. Their family would do everything for those they loved, Roran mused with a glance at his girlfriend and hopefully soon to be wife. Would she still marry him after all this time spent away from each other?

She poked him in the ribs, a soft smile on her face. "You're thinking too much, my dear. Let's go back to the others, or they'll think we've been eaten by the wolves."

"I don't think I've seen a wolf around the lake at all." He answered confusedly. Katrina freed herself from his embrace and stood. She offered him her hand and together they walked back to the group waiting for them. Eragon gave him a searching look, thankfully not mentioning the redness around Katrina's eyes. Roran gave a small smile and a nod. They would be alright. His cousin needn't worry about them.

Eragon seemed to converse with Vanir mentally, before climbing into the saddle of Snowfire. In the bright light of day, they left the Helgrind and its dark secrets behind.

**ERAGON**

Eragon was the first to see the Varden tents in the distance. Their cream coloured tents were a welcoming sight to him after days of travel. They'd made it.

Vanir rode beside him on a grey mare. He'd named her Shiva. The name held some meaning to the elf but he wouldn't say why. Eragon had accepted not getting an answer out of the elf despite wanting to sate his own curiosity.

Nasuada awaited them in her tent, the map pinned to the table holding small flags indicating troop movement from both sides. Eragon ignored it for the moment. His gaze rested on the leader of the Varden, greeting her with a respectful bow. He noticed the tightness around her eyes. She must have been losing sleep in the last few days.

"You're all back safely, and sucessfully too, I presume." Her gaze wandered to Katrina standing closely next to Roran. Her eyes were demurely fixated on the ground. She was no longer coated in a layer of grime and dirt from her imprisonment, using a break in their journey to wash it off and get her hair free of head lice that had made her itch. She was still thin and pale. Her recovery would need time, but after a nice bath in a river and regular meals she looked better now. Eragon knew it had to do with Roran too, the man never letting her leave his sight nowadays.

Eragon nodded and gave his report of the last two weeks. How they'd found the Ra'zac, killed them and freed Katrina. He told of the two slaves they'd saved from becoming a meal and how Cas had helped them in battle.

"If it isn't too much to ask, I want Ragnar to be allowed a horse and enough to make it to his aunt's. He's just a boy and needn't be involved with this war. Cas already told me he would stay and fight for the Varden."

She gave him confirmation on his request. It pleased him to see her so compassionate, knowing he could trust her decisions. He knew it would be a risk to let Ragnar go to Kuasta, after him having been inside the Varden camp. There was still a chance the boy could be picked up by the empire and his mind searched for his memories, but the chance was low.

"While you were gone, the elves sent a guard detail for you...and Saphira. I had to explain what happened to them. They know." Her voice was sombre as she spoke. Her eyes held the weight of Saphira's death in them and Eragon's heart clenched in pain. His arms burned where the scales covered skin and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I contacted queen Izlandadi shortly afterwards. She requested you to travel back to Elesméra, on behalf of your mentor. She wouldn't say anything about them, only they'd asked for you."

Eragon gave a sharp nod. "Unfortunately, I can't disclose this information. I swore not to."

Nasuada sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "Your habit to swear loyalty so eagerly worries me sometimes Eragon."

He chuckled. "It's not intentionally. If I could, I'd have stayed a simple farm boy."

"I can't imagine you actually wishing for that life back. I doesn't suit the Eragon I've come to know.", she said. Stepping around the table she looked at the map. Opening a scroll, she skimmed over the words written on it.

"This is a request from Orik. The dwarves are meeting in Farthen Dur for the election of their king. I was going to sent a representative anyway, but since he sent a formal invitation, it makes the whole thing easier. The other clans can't complain now, because you're a member of the Durgrimst Ingietum."

"You want me to go as your representative." He concluded.

"Yes. The outcome of this election is important to us, because not all clans support this war. They'd rather stay secluded in their mountains than fight against the empire and we need their support to win this war. You'll get two days to recuperate, but I need you to travel as fast as possible to Farthen Dur."

"What about Elesméra?" he asked.

"After the coronation of the new king, you'll travel there."

Her voice told him that this was all, and that they were being dismissed. Her features softened momentarily. "I'm glad to see you all back."

"I'm glad to be back too." He said.

Eragon and Vanir parted ways with the couple shortly afterwards. Roran would share his tent with Katrina and they had to reunite with Elain and Horst since the family was close friends with Katrina too and would be glad to hear that she was back.

Eragon watched them go before he began his way back to where he remembered his own tent to be. He was tired from riding for days on end and he still needed to meet the elves tasked with guarding him. He was nervous, feeling shame prickle on his skin. They would think him a failure. He'd let Saphira die. It was his fault.

His back started to itch again, occasionally twinging uncomfortably with pain. He winced. It had gotten worse over the last few days. He couldn't discern the origin of these back pains. Feeling a hand in his he glanced over to Vanir. The elf must have felt his emotions over their link, trying to give some comfort.

_Are you hungry?, _he asked. Eragon shook his head.

_No. Just tired._

_We don't need to meet them right now, if you're exhausted, _the elf offered. They both knew it was a bad idea to delay that meeting, so Eragon quickly assured, he would like to meet the elves now. Vanir sighed and relented. Eragon let him feel his gratefulness for his concern, assuaging him it was alright.

_Why are you so stubborn?_

_I'm not stubborn._

_You are. Don't worry, I've heard it's a human trait._

Eragon huffed, amused. Vanir was slowly more accepting of humans. He now teased Eragon about it, instead making it clear that he was inferior for it. In fact, he'd stopped his behaviour from before the blood oath completely. Eragon wondered about this change of mind for a moment. Deciding to let it go, he continued the path to his tent. He should be grateful to have found a friend in the elf, it certainly made it easier to share their thoughts and minds.

Eragon had been greeted with tense nods and polite respect, the horror still visible beneath the aloof exterior of the elves. They had all known what had occurred to Saphira, and they had given him their condolences, along with unwanted pity and even more unwanted glances behind his back. They didn't blame him which they should. Instead they blamed Vanir for some reason he couldn't understand. They treated him like one would treat a black cat crossing their path, or a shattered pot. It was like they considered Vanir a bad omen and it didn't sit well with Eragon.

Bloedgharm especially gave a haughty glance at Vanir, his black fur bristling like a cat's and his sharp teeth showing as he greeted him with stilted gestures of the elven greeting. A serious offence in their culture from what Eragon knew.

"We were made aware of the situation and will do our utmost to guard you, argetlam. I find myself worried though. Are you aware of the bad luck following you around?"

Eragon's eyebrows rose. He hadn't thought elves could be superstitious. Arya had made him believ they followed logic above religious beliefs.

"What do you mean?" he asked. The wolf elf's eyes wandered to Vanir.

"Calathan elves are bad luck for everyone.", he said in the ancient language.

"You don't share my history, _ráca(1)_. Don't assume to know what happened to us was our fault. After all, you did nothing that day." Vanir sounded genuinely angry as he spoke up before Eragon could. The ex-rider wondered about the foreign word he used, the accent on the rest of the words heavy.

Bloedgharm's eyes were wide in shock, but he quickly collected himself, repeating the elven greeting, this time fluidly in respect. "I apologize, Vanir-_tindómerel(2)_. My own grief at Saphira's passing clouded my mind. It won't happen again."

Vanir nodded, his eyes cold. "_Ní hyvä-ya vandariä(3)_."

The words must have been understood, for Bloedgharm accepted them with a grateful nod. Eragon wanted to learn the language, not liking feeling left out every time Vanir or another elf spoke it.

After this less than stellar meeting, Eragon informed the wolf elf of his departure in two days time to Farthen Dur. Bloedgharm left after notifying them that he would be at the training grounds tomorrow and Eragon finally entered his tent, exhausted. In the matter of minutes he fell asleep.

Eragon found himself at the training grounds the next day bright and early, refreshed from a good night's sleep. Bloedgharm and the elves from Elesméra were there, sparring against each other in their corner. There was an invisible line sperating them from the human warriors.

He got the attention of an elf not involved in a spar. He had the typical black hair flowing down his back and dark eyes. Again, Eragon compared it to the way Vanir would braid his hair with dyed string and owl or eagle feathers.

They shared a quick greeting, Eragon finally remembering the elf's name – Wyrden.

Eragon saw they were not likely to be overheard, at the edge of the training field. The clang of steel and the noise around them made it hard for anyone to listen in. He quickly posed his question to the elf. Wyrden actually looked taken aback. Still, he explained, "It's mostly true what Arya dröttningu told you, argetlam. There's no reason for a human marriage for us. We don't die from old age. We don't have children to need being married, as elven children are rare and cherished by all. They would grow up with Du Veldenvarden their family."

Eragon nodded, understanding the principle behind it, but he couldn't help but ask, "What about love?"

Wyrden actually smiled. "Love is love. You can hold love for your craft, love for your parents, or love for your child. Then there's love for your partner. Some stay together for hundreds of years, others for a decade and others millennia."

"That's...more like the answer I had expected from you. Cryptic and only half of what I asked."

Wyrden pondered for a moment. "What did you ask then?"

Eragon glanced at the men sparring in the hot midday sun, sweat glistening and breath making their chests heave from exertion. He glanced at the elves gracefully dancing in a mock fight around each other, their hair flowing freely and their garb making them stand out. How could he explain the foreign emotions he felt around one elf especially? The confusion and fear at the emotions invoked in him?

"You said love is love. Does that mean you don't see a difference between... it is not wrong to love someone of your own gender?" he stumbled over the words, his uncertainty on the subject clear. Wyrden hummed noncommittally, but he answered his question.

"Why should we differentiate, if it is not hurting anyone? ...I see humans view this differently."

"Well, it wasn't something you talked about in Carvahall. Maybe it's different in cities like Term." Eragon said, unsure. He hadn't looked closely enough since he hadn't been concerned about such things during their brief stays in the bigger cities. At the time he'd only held attraction for women.

He thanked Wyrden for the insight and left in search for Vanir.

Eragon had realized how little he actually knew about his bond mate. He'd assumed Vanir was from Elesméra, but that wasn't true, was it? He'd spoken in an unknown tongue before, unlike Arya or Wyrden. The past of the elf was still shrouded in mystery. Vanir was talented in magic and light spells. Eragon had seen him craft a lantern from nothing but a bulbous flower and sunlight. The elf loved to spar and his emotions during their flight to the Varden had indicated that he'd enjoyed flying too. His connection to nature was a trait shared by all elves. Vanir hadn't been much hostile to Eragon, after their departure. His view on Eragon had changed rapidly after being bonded.

It wasn't like his crush on Arya, Eragon noted with mild surprise colouring his thoughts. Arya had been easy to fall for, as she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. She still was. Eragon simply didn't view her as a romantic partner anymore. He would always hold affection for the princess, she could say what she wanted to him and it wouldn't change that. It had simply tapered off into a manageable kind of admiration for her.

This was still reason enough for him not to ask her about all this. Her cold attitude and rejection sat heavily on his mind, and he wanted to hold on to the hurt a while longer by ignoring her and not running to her with any questions he had. He didn't care if it was petty.

Unfortunately, the opportunity to speak to Vanir alone never came. Nasuada told him through a messenger, how she wanted him present during her meeting with the king of Surda and the surdaninan nobility, to further gain their favour. Eragon knew, she hoped to find benefactors by parading him around. As his liege lord, he supposed he couldn't exactly tell her no, so he noted the time by the stand of the sun in the sky, and returned to his tent. He oiled and shone his armour, then his sword. It rankled him how he no longer had Zarroc. Murtagh had taken the blade from him. He shoved the bitterness and betrayal aside, concentrating on his task again. Afterwards he took a quick bath, and wore the clothes brought to him by a servant of the Varden leader.

Eragon looked down on himself, treading his fingers along the embroidery, and found it strange to find himself in such formal wear. The stiff jacket was a deep blue, an expensive colour. It wasn't new. His eyes could spot the, to him, clear signs of age in the fabric. The jacket had been worn before by somebody.

The dark brown pants were a bit too long at the legs, so they bunched slightly awkwardly around his boots. Eragon stood awkwardly in the shadowed space of his tent, feeling ridiculous.

It didn't help that he was going alone.

Finding the leader of the Varden was easier than he'd have thought. She was never without her guard nowadays, after all, they'd been staying here for weeks now, without a retaliation from the king. It made them all sitting on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She greeted him with a nod, a smile playing on her lips seeing him visible uncomfortable in the clothes but deciding to not comment on it.

They walked side by side, the darkening sky cause for flickering torchlight to erupt where the night guard sparked them.

They stopped outside the entrance to a brightly lit tent, where he picked up on the murmur of several voices from inside. She scrutinized him. "I shall remind you of the importance of this dinner tonight. Do not let them know of your doubts. Do not give them anything. They are like vultures if they think they can prey on something. You're my vassal. You answer to me, no one else."

"Dinner?", he asked, but got no answer. She'd already entered the tent. Hastily following her, he soon found out, being met with the delicious scent of baked bread and roast. The kitchen staff must have done what they could with their supplies, to get a small feast done so quickly. He saw fruit in a big wooden bowl, and carrots were used in decorative carved pieces around the meat.

The guests were apparently waiting for them, because all eyes turned to Nasuada, and not just a few turned on him. He gulped and – remembered of Nasuada comparison to vultures – put on a polite smile, his own emotions locked away behind a mask of cool indifference. He would need to be careful tonight, if he wanted to play the powerful yet loyal vassal to the Varden leader.

King Orin was first to formally greet them, his own quirkiness seemingly forgotten, and interchanged by a completely different person. His own formal wear actually resembled Eragon's a great deal. His dark burgundy jacket and even darker pants were stitched with intricate patterns of lilies. His hair was tied back in a neat tail, the signet ring on his finger telling of his heritage gleaming in the light. He must have polished it beforehand. Orin held a charming grin, his respectful demeanour upon greeting them seemed entirely genuine, and Eragon would have fallen for the act, if he didn't knew of the spats between these two leaders behind closed doors. He wondered about it, how easily this man changed faces, like one would change footwear. King Orin was no fool. He may disagree on Nasuada's plans, but he wasn't showing it publicly.

The other guests seated themselves after Nasuada and Orin had been seated. Eragon was dragged inconspicuously down next to her. A noble with a prominent nose and piercing grey stare sat next to him. Twelve other nobles attended the dinner. Nasuada's guards stayed in the shadows, while the nighthawks stationed outside had rotations.

_This is a nightmare!,_ Eragon thought. He felt the greed and curiosity hammer against his mental shields, and tried not to run for the hills. It wasn't like the nobles were openly projecting their thoughts, but Eragon had learned that not many humans learned to also hide their emotions from another trained mind.

How could the two leaders appear unaffected all the time if this was normal to them?

The dinner commenced amicably, the guests behaving with false charming personalities and carefully crafted sentences. Eragon tried to politely decline every offer from noble lords to visit their estates. It was harder to evade personal inquiries, he noticed. These people tended to have a particular talent for them.

It disgusted him how they hid behind polite words and faux concern, asking him about Saphira, how he was going to dethrone the king, his interests in a partner. The last one had Orin reprimand Lord Kalin's wife, who'd shown an unhealthy amount of interest in him the whole evening. The woman had apologized, but not stopped giving him surreptious glances across the table. Eragon had wanted to scream. He'd silently stabbed a carrot instead. At first he'd been nervous declining the offer of meat, explaining he was a vegetarian, but because of his status nobody had commented on it. The meal at least had been delicious, if only he could've enjoyed it more. Alas, the unhelpful advances of a married noble lady left him with little appetite.

The dinner – also known as the political display of the resident dragon rider – ended after two hours of posturing from the nobles and Eragon ready to stab one of them. Nasuada had patted him on the shoulder, thanking him silently this way for holding his tongue and not offending anyone. He nodded and left. The night air was cool and he sighed. This was not something he wished to repeat.

The ex-rider felt a stab of pain between his shoulder blades. The pain had gotten worse, maybe he should seek out a healer tomorrow before they departed to Farthen dur.

Grimacing he made his way back to his tent. He wanted to change back into more comfortable clothes, the stiff jacket aggravating his back where the pain radiated from. His enhanced hearing caught snippets of conversation from the night guard. They were the standard tales of men. Chatting about the wife, or any new gossip. Some were speaking about him. His steps slowed as he contemplated listening in, but he scolded himself for even thinking about it. It wasn't important what these men thought about him, and so he picked up his gait and walked through the night to his tent.

The next dawn found him in a foul mood, his back aching terribly and twinging painfully with every move. He carefully detangled himself from his blanket, having somehow wound it around himself in his sleep.

Vanir looked at him with his eyebrows raised, worry in his mental query as they met for a friendly spar. Eragon must have looked terrible for the elf to voice his concern.

And he'd hoped to never again experience back pains after the blood oath. This time he didn't even know why he had them.

He waved the other's concern aside, determined not to let it hinder him. He was fine.

They ended up on a clear part of the training field, blunting their swords. Eragon focused on his environment, and the elf opposite him. He ignored the twinge in his back as he took a fast calculated step forward, his sword held in his right hand. He made a stabbing motion towards the elf's torso, parried by the elven blade. In a fluid movement he described a circular motion with his sword, coming in at the left hand side, getting blocked again. They danced like this, their movements too fast to the human eye. Eragon tried to break through the elf's defence with no success, his blade singing as it came in contact with the elven blade again and again.

Suddenly he felt the pain flare up in his back, a tearing ripping sound cutting through the air, and he screamed as he sank to the ground. Everything around them stopped. Eragon panted, his mind not yet understanding what was happening. He could hear Vanir say his name, felt the hand gripping his shoulder. He flinched and moaned at the pain it evoked. The hand quickly retreated. His sight was blurry. Tears.

He must be crying. Was he crying? He hoped he wasn't crying. The pain made it hard to think. Concern was washing over him. It wasn't his own. Vanir.

The slick feeling of blood running down his back snapped him back into reality. He was still kneeling awkwardly on the ground, Vanir beside him but not touching him. Something weighed him down from behind and he looked over his shoulder. The sight made him gasp

Wings.

Blue wings.

They were dripping with blood form where they sprouted from his back and the tips were touching the ground. He couldn't hold back the tears anymore, seeing them.

* * *

1 Ráca (calath.) means wolf. Vanir uses it to comment on Bloegharm's appearance and as an insult.

2 Tindómerel (calath.) translates to nightingale and is contextually used to refer to elves who live in Calath

3 I accept your apology. (calath.)


	9. See the Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this was originally 2k of angst, then I was dissatisfied with it, got writer’s block and watched lots of YouTube videos and wrote shitty drafts to get back into it again...so go and watch hellofutureme, he talks a lot over atla and his videos are one of the best. Just saying.  
Again, I had no idea what to do at first, but somehow the characters invented this chapter themselves! It is shorter than the last one, but I left it at 4k, simply because I liked the end and the next one will be longer again, I think.  
So now we have some things cleared up, and we get some fluff...so much fluff I could die. I swear it all just happened...Heh.

**CHAPTER 9 – SEE THE DAWN**

  
The commotion and chaos around him was drowned out by his own turbulent thougths.

  
I have wings!

  
His whole body shook with the pain and realization. He had wings.

  
The concerned voices of the elven guards who’d watched them reached his ears, until Vanir barked at them to back off. The bristling of Bloedgharm was prevalent. Eragon dimly thought he should intervene and stop a fight between these two, but he couldn’t move.

  
When would it stop, he thought. Fingertips brushed against his shoulder. It made him look into concerned honey gold eyes. Vanir gripped his shoulder, now having his attention. The ring of elves let them through, murmurs coming from them still, but not as overwhelming now.

  
Other warriors had been training by the archery range and they were staring at him. Gawking spectators.

  
Vanir didn’t lead him back through the rows of tents, but to the riverbank of the Jiet. It was secluded from the rest, but close to the training field and the surdanian border.

  
It was quiet and peaceful now, the sun reflecting on the water’s surface and the only noise his own erratic beating heart. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now he took a deep breath to calm down. The fresh scent of water dampened earth and wet grass made him think of the waterfalls in Palancar Valley. The burning plains were dry and lifeless, but near the Jiet you could find it grow and flourish again.

“Are you alright?”

  
The question was spoken softly. Eragon found himself bristle at first, vulnerable from being so weak that Vanir didn’t use their bond to check his mental state and instead asked him. Vanir never forced a deeper connection between them, something Eragon had feared would happen back in Elesméra. He always asked. Eragon knew it must be hard feeling the wave of turmoil that were his own emotions bleed through his shields and over to the elf. All he did was ask him if he was alright, which made Eragon answer as honest as he could, after another moment had passed.

“No, but I’m better.”

Vanir picked up a pebble and threw it, no longer looking at the former dragon rider. It skimmed the surface several times before sinking into the water. Eragon followed its path, thinking about the day they’d spent in Elesméra, skipping stones at a riverbank just like this. It had been after their truce. They hadn’t been friends yet, and the morning had been spent in silence, but it had been peaceful regardless.

“You’re not weak for admitting that you need help.” Vanir spoke softly. “I think it needs bravery to reach out and ask for support.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me...and that scares me. I’m terrified. At the same time I’m not sure what I should do. The Varden need my help to win this war, but I’m just one person! I’m not even a dragon rider anymore!”  
He picked up a pebble and threw it across the river. It sank down somewhere in the middle. Eragon sank down to his knees as well, feeling like he was similarly drowning.

“What am I?” he asked weakly. Vanir crouched beside him. His long sleeved tunic hid the scars on his arms, but Eragon could trace them from memory. He could remember were his claws had sunk into skin and blood had welled up, metallic and red. It made guilt rise up again in him, for the lack of control he’d had upon waking from his unconscious state. Magic hadn’t worked properly and left the skin marred forever.  
He touched them now through the cloth. “I’m always hurting you. What kind of monster am I?”  
“It was not your fault. It was an accident.” The elf grasped his wrist in a comfortable hold. Eragon looked up into warm eyes, his throat closing up at the lack of anger. Vanir wasn’t blaming him for it.

“I broke your arm too.”

“You healed it, and felt quite bad about it.” It was said in the same assured tone.

It was frustrating to him how fast Vanir dismissed his behaviour, meeting his gaze and looking him in the eye like he wanted Eragon to believe his words.

“You’re a kind, caring person, Eragon, and whatever happens to you, I don’t believe you would turn into a monster.”

Eragon surprised the elf by tackling him into a hug, his heart warmed by the words. Vanir thought so highly of him, he couldn’t comprehend it. They’d been bitter rivals before the blood oath and even after. If it weren’t for the bond, forcing them to at least get along, they would have never exchanged another word. Maybe the circumstances how they’d been brought to this point could have been better, but Eragon was simply glad to have the elf here and as his friend.

  
“We should wash them. They’ve ripped out of your back in a violent way.” Vanir said. Eragon knew he was right, but he didn’t want to give up hugging just yet, after discovering how nice it felt. Vanir was warm and solid against him, the hair and the feathers woven in it tickling his nose and face. He had his eyes closed and the scent of cinnamon and rain surrounded him. He didn’t want to give this up at all and so he tightened his grip.

“Or we could do it later.”, Vanir sighed.

Later they did wash out the dried blood, Vanir doing the parts where Eragon couldn’t reach, which were near his spine. Eragon let him carefully use a wash cloth to clean the still soft scales covering the bone between the membrane, shivering slightly at the contact. The atmosphere between them was comfortable and they both didn’t need words to fill the silence. Eragon had let their connection deepen, to share the now peaceful mood.

  
The wings were not going to stay a secret. They were protruding from his back and reaching upwards over his head and back down to his calves. The bone structure looked similar to what he knew Saphira’s wings had looked like, and Vanir told him the membrane was growing out of his back from wing joint to halfway down his back. It made it difficult to struggle back into his ruined shirt.

  
Eragon worried if he would from now on be forced to run around topless. Someone with a tanned and muscled physique like Roran could probably do it, but he felt self conscious by the thought of him doing it.

The wings at least dried quickly in the sun and he familiarized himself with the barrage of sensations he now had. A lot more calmer now, he found himself embarrassed by his little freak out. 

  
It was around midday when they braved the throng of people going through the encampment again. They’d decided to report this to Nasuada immediately, before rumour could reach her first.

  
Her night hawks stopped them outside her tent, one going in to notify her of their presence. They were allowed in despite the Varden leader obviously in a discussion with no other than Jeod. The accountant from Term recognized Eragon even with the drastic change in his appearance, his face lifting into a tired smile.

  
“I’m sure you have an explanation.” Nasuada’s voice was sharp, commanding. Her eyes jumped to the wings, like many other stares he’d gotten over their way here. She offered him to give her the truth, but he didn’t even know it himself. It was Jeod who startled them all by his breathy exclamation of: “You’re an indlvarn!”

Three heads all swivelled around to stare at the man. Jeod blushed and scratched the back of his head. Shifting on his foot, he coughed into his fist.  
“It’s something Brom mentioned once... You didn’t know?” his eyes returned to Eragon. The accountant seemed truly puzzled.

  
Eragon had heard of the term, describing dragon rider bonds with the dragon’s body experiencing death.

  
“You must be wrong,” he spoke. “Saphira’s dead. My bond to her is severed. If I was indlvarn, she would still live on.”

  
Jeod wasn’t discouraged by this. “Yes, but how does a dragon live if their body dies? My research never answered this question, only that it was possible during the era of the riders. Maybe they had a way to transfer their soul and consciousness to another body, some kind of vessel for them to practically cheat death.”  
Eragon found it scary how the man’s brilliant mind worked, using his facts with logic to combine it and get a cohesive picture.

  
“So let’s assume a dragon transfers their soul over to an object and then dies. The conscious transfers over to where the soul is, and so the dragon lives even without their body. So far, most accounts hold true.”

  
Jeod continued with his audience now enraptured, being in his element completely. “What would happen to a dragon who was dying the moment they transferred their soul over? And with a rider bond, they could easily have a vessel for their soul.”

  
“You mean Saphira gave me her soul before she died?” asked Eragon. It sounded half mad, but a part of him was questioning the last several weeks. Hadn’t he heard a voice that had sounded eerily like her? And the changes his body had again gone through, still unexplained...

  
“A soul wouldn’t be a full consciousness.” Jeod said like he was apologizing. “It’s all just a theory, but the vessel for a dragon soul can’t just be anything, or you would encounter talking and thinking rocks. No, it’s something that no book or letter would speak about and it must hold the vast energy of a soul. A rider has never taken in their other half’s soul, because it was too massive for our bodies to contain. I suspect the outward change was brought on by her magic recognizing this and making adjustments.”

  
It all sounded far fetched and impossible, but it made so much sense. The rush of her magic engulfing him before her presence vanished completely. Her panic at seeing him bleed out before her from the sword stabbed into his chest. She had tried to save him and given her life, but hadn’t wanted to leave him. She’d done what she could so he was going to be safe. She couldn’t have known what would happen, but that hadn’t been important in that moment.

  
“She was trying to save me.” He whispered and looked down.

  
The weight of his words hung heavily in the room. Nasuada cleared her throat. “This doesn’t change our plans. In light of this development I would like you to start your journey now.”

  
Eragon agreed. As much as he needed more time to process Jeod’s words and his own changes, he would feel better when he was actively doing something again. Idly sitting around would only make him overthink everything.

  
“You’re both dismissed.” She said and they took their leave, the tent flap closing behind them. The night hawks – a name that had started to pop up around the Varden lately – watched them go.

  
Eragon asked the other for permission to speak mentally, walking slowly along the main path leading through camp. His wings made it easier since many people stared and avoided the ex-dragon rider.

  
_I wish to speak to Roran, if you don’t mind. Last time I left I didn’t say goodbye, and he took it personal._

  
_Mmh. We need supplies, though. You go visit your cousin, meanwhile I’ll go gather everything we’ll need. Meet you at the stables in an hour?_

_Thank you,_ Eragon answered. He was glad to get this opportunity. IF the battle of the burning plains had ended differently, he was sure Roran would have hit him at least for running away without a word.

  
The elf left him at a crossroads, going right to where the smoke of the kitchens were visible. He continued straight ahead, his senses stretched out and finding the familiar presence of Roran and another lighter presence that must be Katrina.

It was a short walk to the section where the former villagers had been grouped together. Eragon felt like an outsider as he recognized men and women from his past now staring at him with the same stunned looks holding sometimes even fear. IT was a harsh blow to him to realize it. They were afraid of him. He couldn’t fault them. His wings were holding clawed tips at the upper bone joint, and his inner turmoil had led to his nails transforming into claws again. His eyes were probably glowing blue.

Finding Roran was easy, Eragon using his ability to detect his mental presence to lead him. He actually found Katrina first, the young woman sitting in front of the entrance, the sun shining down on her pale form. She was looking better already just being here, he thought. The imprisonment had left its mark on her, being withdrawn and no longer the confident strong woman he had seen in Carvahall. He hoped she would become this person once again.

  
He gave a greeting, making her lay down the needle and thread, looking up at him and blink. “Eragon?” she asked, hesitant. He gave a close lipped smile, not wanting to show her his sharpened teeth. He didn’t want to scare her.

“I’m here to see Roran, but it’s nice to see you too. How are you?”

  
She folded her hands in her lap, the hair falling into her face as she looked down. She fiddled with the corner of the cloth and he waited for her to find the right words.

“It’s hard. I have nothing anymore. No family, no dowry I could give him... and he still stays with me.” She sounded sad, but he also heard happiness in her voice. “I love him, I really do. I just wish I could be a better wife for him.”

“Roran loves you too, and he doesn’t care about a dowry if you’re worried about that.” Eragon said.

She huffed, but the sadness didn’t leave her face completely. “I know.”

Eragon knew this was something she had to speak with Roran about, so he knocked on the wooden beam at the entrance and shortly afterwards Roran’s head peeked out. His eyes gave a short assessment, traveling above his head and back down, before he let out a sigh. “Come in.” He said. His gaze wandered to Katrina and softened. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I think Eragon is here to say goodbye before he needs to leave again.”

Roran lifted his eyebrows at the ex-rider. “You’re going again?”

Eragon nodded. “Nasuada wants me to be at Farthen Dûr during the election. After these”, he gestured at the wings, “appeared today, she told me to start travelling as soon as possible.”

“Are you even fit to travel? You weren’t at a hundred percent when we went to Dras Leona, and you still had barely time to heal since we’re back. Couldn’t she have given you more time at least?”

“I won’t get any rest here.”

Roran sighed, again. “At least you came to see me, instead of just leaving with the village bard. You’re just leaving again with the elf.”

“I didn’t tell you that Vanir was coming with me.” Eragon said in surprise.

Roran gave him a look, like it was obvious. “You’re constantly around each other, Eragon. He never once left your side while you were unconscious, not even to sleep.”

Eragon evaded his gaze, self conscious suddenly. Roran leaned against the beam of wood, his arms crossed.

“I’m not blind, Eragon.”

“He’s just a friend. You should have seen us before. He hated me.”

“I’m not judging you.” Roran sounded hurt. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me if you want. I’m here to listen. And if he hurts you...” he left the threat open, for Eragon to know that he had his cousin’s support. Roran was misinterpreting this though. There was nothing going on, they were friends, close friends even.

Maybe Eragon found the elf attractive, but that could be said about a lot of elves.

Or was Roran saying this because of the way Eragon was comfortable in seeking physical contact with the elf? He hadn’t thought a pat on the shoulder or a brush of arms was strange enough to come to these conclusions like his cousin had.

The half dragon left again, his mind swirling. Vanir was waiting with the horses saddled and their supplies packed in saddlebags. He quickly hid his conversation with Roran from the elf, not wanting the other to see what had him thinking in circles. Luckily Vanir didn’t ask.

They left fairly unnoticed and rode for two hours until the rocky terrain of the burning plains abruptly changed into green scrubs and thin spindly trees. On horse back they only needed until sundown to reach the lake’s coast, still several miles away from Petrøvya.  
The vegetation changed into lush flowers and grasses as they neared the Tüdosten. The trees held sparrows and small birds nesting there. Eragon could sense their caution of him, as they rode beneath.

They decided to stop for the night, Snowfire and Shiva needing to rest and it would be foolish to travel through the night. The Beor mountains were still a full day’s travel ahead of them. They laid down for the night on opposite sides of the fire. Eragon curled his wings around himself against the cold wind. His ears picked up the sound of Vanir shivering, despite having a thick blanket.

  
Frowning he opened his eyes. In the dark he could see his form clearly, and yes, Vanir was cold. He hadn’t noticed how cold apparently and wondered why.

“You’re cold.” He stated unnecessarily.

  
“You aren’t?” Vanir asked, turning around on his bedroll to face him. His face was flushed from the cold. Eragon shook his head. He truly didn’t feel cold.

He opened one wing. “Come on, I don’t want you to get sick.” He said.

  
After a short moment of hesitation, the elf shuffled over. He awkwardly laid down beside him. Eragon snaked an arm around him to get him flush against his chest, to share body heat. His wing was draped over them and he heard the elf let out an involuntary sigh as the warmth seeped into him.  
It was nice, the close contact. Despite himself not feeling the cold as acutely as his companion, he felt warmer than before. The weather was going to be harsh, the cold season beginning, bringing frost and later snow.

  
It was a matter of how long the election process would stretch, for their following travel to du Veldenvarden to either be a snowy one or just one spent in frost bitten air and rain.   
He cuddled closer to the softly breathing form of the elf, his mind enveloped by sleep.

*

  
Eragon stretched his tired limbs after their ride through Petrøvya, the late evening sun continuing its descent on the west. His wings spread to their full length, and he corrected his stance quickly. He had found that they had a mind of their own sometimes and reacted on his emotions, but with time he learned to control them as he became accustomed to them. Like an additional set of arms, but different.

  
He watched the light reflect off the Tüdosten, remembering the Leona lake. The sky was coloured in warm oranges and held only a few clouds. For a moment he felt a sharp pain as he thought of Saphira. If she were still here, they would have lost no time to fly.

  
He felt the wind against the thin membrane of his wings and felt stupid. He should be able to fly, right? He hadn’t actually tried before, but he could find out now.  
Experimentally, he stretched both wings and moved them back to his body slowly, trying to get used to the feeling of being actively in control. He had felt Saphira fly through their bond before, but it had been background noise, something that wasn’t necessary for him to know.

  
How did one go about flying?

  
“I wanna fly.” He said to Vanir who’d started a small fire and was heating water in a pot for a vegetable broth. The elf looked at him where he crouched beside the fire pit. His hair was braided with owl feathers and his eyes were warm.

  
“You don’t know if you can.”

  
“I’m sure it’s possible, just...I don’t know. What do I do?”

  
Vanir stood and came over to him, his hand touching the wing bone. “They resemble Saphira’s wings a great deal, so I would say, try to emulate her.”

  
“I’ll try.”

  
Eragon gave some more distance between their camp and himself, so he wouldn’t create a forest fire with the gust of wind stirred up by his wings. He angled them upwards and his body forwards, beating them down and catching the wind. It took some trial and error and he felt awkward doing it, but he got the hang of it. After some figuring out how to catch the wind beneath them he finally – finally – got it right. He shouted in triumph as he hovered in the air, several feet above the ground. His wings beat powerful at his sides, the strain on his new muscles manageable. EH wouldn’t be able to fly for long, but he was hopeful to work on his condition.

  
Eragon found out that he could simply glide by letting his wings stay in one position, which he did before he tried to regain height by flapping his wings. IT was mostly some instinct that prevented him from crashing, guiding him in his movement and giving him an inkling how he had to use the air currents to glide over the sky.

  
He came back down to the ground with a stumble and a wide grin on his face. Vanir mirrored it, his eyes filled with something unnameable to him. The colourful leaves on the trees surrounding them et the sun shine through and it made him look beautiful. Eragon was still drunk on the high from flying, and the moment held a surreal quality to it, making everything peaceful and serene. For a moment he lost his worries, and the world around him. It was just him and Vanir. The butterflies danced in his stomach as he stepped forwards. Suddenly they were breathing the same air and Eragon couldn’t stop his lips, didn’t want to. They brushed Vanir’s in a short sweet kiss.

  
The elf had no time to return it, as reality came back to the indlvarn. He flinched back and felt himself blush, his mind scrambling for an answer. What had he been thinking??? He had just kissed his friend! HE felt the pit in his stomach open up and swallowing him. Gods, why was he even thinking about this? Shameful he looked at the dazed looking elf. He hoped he hadn’t destroyed their friendship. Stupid he thought, of course Vanir didn’t want to do anything with him now...  
He sighed and carefully peered at the elf. He wasn’t disgusted at least...simply still in shock. Before he could have another break down at his rash acting on his attraction to the elf, said elf grasped his tunic in a tight grip. Eragon braced himself for – he actually didn’t know, it wasn’t like Vanir was prone to violence and going to hit him, was he?

  
Vanir brought him close again, their breath mingling. Gold coloured eyes had darkened, the pupils blown wide. “Why did you kiss me?” he asked in a whisper.  
Eragon could not answer that he’d seen the elf and been hit with the revelation that he looked beautiful surrounded by the falling leaves. That would be beyond embarrassing and Eragon was not going to do that. Just, no. His pulse quickened the longer he stared into those eyes and his own voice was barely above a whisper, as he said, “I wanted to.”

  
The elf leaned closer their noses brushing. “Would you kiss me again?”

  
Eragon did, gladly following the request. This time it was slow, soft and Eragon closed his eyes as he let himself sink into the sensation. He’d never kissed anyone and it was new to him, but Vanir obviously knew what he was doing, because his lips moved with a sureness that he lacked. He let his arms fall down to the elf’s waist, the kiss making his thoughts stop short. He could smell the hint of cinnamon and rain, his nose bumping against the elf’s. They shared a breathy laugh before Vanir initiated another kiss.

  
They had to stop eventually, out of breath and the darkness of night descending over them. It was Vanir who led them back to where dinner sat cooling over a dying fire. Eragon didn’t mind it much, the shared glances and the closeness as they curled up on Eragon’s bedroll together for the night making him feel warm inside. And that was enough. 


	10. Bregan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, since I'm swamped in coourse work. And I think it makes up for it in content this time. Hopefully. Thank you all for leaving kudos, and especially those who left a review! You're amazing and I can't say how happy I am to get such positve feedback in this smallish fandom.

**CHAPTER 10 – BREGAN**

  
**ERAGON**

  
Bregan was an astounding feat of architecture. They arrived in the morning, thus blessed with the sight of the light meeting the red stone structure. It was like looking at a castle made of rubies, the glittering minerals in the stone reflecting the light and giving it this appearance. Eragon wondered if the other dwarven cities were like this, or if it had to do with Bregan being the home to the Dûrgrimst Ingietum.

  
Every clan had its own capital city, independent of Farthen Dûr. They were situated in the vast mountain range of the Beor Mountains, sustained by their own trade system between the cities and Farthen Dûr. Galbatorix had left them alone safe the beginning of his genocide of the riders, because the mountains were inhabitable for humans and not worth the effort apparently. 

  
Now, they led their horses along the path to the main gate. It was guarded by dwarves in light armour, with halberds taller than them. Eragon identified them as Orik’s guests, trying to hold back on a comment when the eyes of the guards lingered suspiciously on Vanir’s pointed ear tips. They were led trough. 

  
Orik greeted them with open arms, his happiness to see his clan brother in all but blood making Eragon smile in return. He didn’t react to his changed looks. Nasuada must have warned him beforehand. They exchanged pleasantries, about their long travel to Bregan and how the dwarf had fared over that time managing his clan. Then Orik told them something unexpected of his own.

  
“You got married?!” Eragon asked surprised and slightly shocked, looking at his friend as he shifted in embarrassment. He was radiating with happiness as he nodded though.

  
“Hvedra was adamant that I marry her. We knew each other for years already and she had expressed interest in me before the battle beneath Farthen Dûr. I wished to court her for longer than I did, but... in these trying times she didn’t want to waste time.”

  
Eragon smiled at the story. “Sounds like a strong woman.”

  
“Oh, she certainly is! I wanted to hold a feast in her honour, as per tradition, but she told me off right at the start. Hvedra did agree to a feast tonight with your arrival, so I should feel blessed to at least have that. Say, Eragon have you ever seen a firework?” Orik already sounded like one of the men long suffering from the rule of their wives, completely in love and mostly speaking from fondness. Eragon shook his head at the question though.

  
“Then you’re in luck, because Hvedra allowed me to at least make a spectacle of tonight and I’m going to do everything I can to make this night the best of her life. Our blacksmiths and magicians worked together to create a substance that will explode in the sky and create colourful sparks. They’re loud, but very beautiful to see, especially at night.”

  
“I admit, I’m intrigued. This sounds very impressive, Orik.”

  
Orik huffed a laugh. “We do have the knowledge of minerals and metals, but I do hope the magic aspect of it will impress you as well, _vanyali_ (1). I know nothing can compare to the understanding of light your kind once possessed. It’s an honour to show you what dwarven ingenuity can accomplish now.” The high praise was accepted with Vanir bowing in respect, and Eragon felt that Orik didn’t speak about all elves, but Vanir’s origins. The elf was still tight lipped about that.  
“Then, the honour is mine, seeing your people feel inspired by our legacy.”

  
Orik waved his hand, acknowledging the words. They were cut short as Orik had to return to his duties.

  
“You must be tired, let’s not hold you two up.”, he said. “You can ask for one of the servants to show you the bathing house to refresh yourselves before dinner. I’ll tell somebody to bring you a fresh set of clothes.”

  
Eragon was relieved to hear that. Cleaning spells were nice and all, but they just weren’t the same as a nice bath with actual water. The indlvarn left Orik to his own duties, taking the grimstborith’s advice.

  
The bath house was communal, but still providing privacy for the comfort of guests. The water was transferred in by a massive aqueduct, the water being led here from a fresh water spring deep in the mountains upon which the city and hold had been built. The dwarves heated it before the water flowed in small waterfalls into the pool. It was another feat of dwarven ingenuity, so different from the elves seeming to blend in with nature while the dwarves carved their place into the stone around them. 

  
Eragon let himself sink into the warm water with a sigh. His tired muscles relaxed and he sat on the lowered stone bench along the edge of the pool. The water reached just below his chest. He rested his elbows on the tiled floor at the edge of the pool while turning around to watch Vanir folding his clothes. The elf’s skin glistened in the moist air from the steam. For a moment, Eragon forgot what he’d wanted to say. The sight let his thoughts wander to ways he could touch that skin. Vanir had his back to him, fortunately or unfortunately. He was glad the other didn’t see his reaction to seeing him naked. It was hard enough to watch him bend down to lay down his bundle of clothes, presenting his nicely shaped butt to him unknowingly. He quickly turned away before the elf noticed his stare. The water rippled as Vanir joined him.

  
Eragon took several controlled breaths, his heart beating like a caged bird. He wanted to kiss the elf again, but they were in a bathing house. Anyone could walk in. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if Vanir wanted to kiss him back. They’d both admitted being somewhat attracted to each other, and Eragon knew this didn’t automatically involve feelings. He’d known the elf was attractive while he’d still disliked him.

  
Following a sudden impulse, he linked his hand with the elf’s who looked at him. His eyes were a warm amber in the shaded light. Eyes flickered down to Eragon’s lips, and Eragon was suddenly all too aware of their closeness.

  
He wasn’t waiting for another chance.

  
So he leaned up and pressed his lips against Vanir’s.

  
Vanir froze with a surprised gasp. Then an unmistakably lustful noise escaped his throat as he returned the kiss.

  
Eragon’s hands came up to grip Vanir’s hair and he received a groan in response, the sound vibrating against Eragon’s mouth.

  
Eragon huffed a laugh, breaking their kiss. Vanir shuffled closer, honey dark eyes never leaving his gaze, pressing him against the edge of the pool. His hands fell down to the elf’s waist where he squeezed the rounded shapes. Vanir let out a moan that shouldn’t be heard by anyone. Eragon buried his head in the crook of the other’s neck. He followed his need to explore it with his tongue, the short puffs of breath against his shoulder telling him how affected Vanir was. Eragon wasn’t unaffected either. Vanir’s body was warmed by the water and fitting against him in a way that sent pleasure through him. Eragon moaned. His hands brought the elf closer, increasing their contact. It was nearly too much for his already oversensitive state. Vanir ended their kiss, his hands preventing Eragon from taking it further by bringing them into contact. The sudden interruption helped to clear his mind slightly from the lustful haze having fallen over them.

“We should stop.” He whispered into his ear, producing a shiver. The words made Eragon remember that they were here to bathe, not to make out.  
He kissed the side of the elf’s head and then his cheek, no longer caught in his desire for the elf, more to tell him without words that this wasn’t just based on sexual attraction. He hadn’t been able to say it, afraid what it meant. Their friendship was something Eragon feared to loose if they continued this and Vanir didn’t feel the same.

  
“Eragon…” Vanir said. Then he drew him into a kiss that was slow and soft. Like a promise. They broke their kiss again, Vanir giving him a small smile. “We need to be there for the feast.”

  
“I know.” Eragon said, suddenly realizing where they were. Still alone, to their luck. He didn’t want to let the elf go, but he stayed silent when the elf climbed out of the pool and used a towel to dry himself off. Only then did he follow his example, the warm water having done nothing to help him cool down. He swiftly hid behind the towel. Not that Vanir didn’t know what he was doing to him. His embarrassment and arousal was clear over their bond.

  
Eragon tried not to sigh like some heartsick fool as he allowed himself to watch Vanir get back into his clothes. It was a wonder he could hide it at all, since they left the bond open between them with surface thoughts and impressions flowing through. These brief moments of intimacy between them that they hadn’t yet spoken about were going to be the death of him.

  
**~*~**

  
After a long refreshing bath and wearing clean clothes again that didn’t smell of days spent traveling in the baking sun, they joined Orik and Hvedra on a long richly decorated table. The opulent dinner was a mix of different meats, steamed or grilled vegetable side dishes, and many variables of potatoes – Eragon was truly baffled as he sighted more than fifteen dishes featuring potatoes. There were freshly baked breads stuffed with beans, meat or fish. Upon his question, Orik explained that these were Anpan, a traditional baked bread. He pointed out which were which sort, so Eragon could avoid the meat filled ones. He tried one with a filling of beans. It held a sweet and rich taste, the dough soft as he bit into it. 

  
He found himself enjoying various vegetable dishes, the many options startling, but also nice to have. The cooks must have moved heaven and earth for this evening.

  
Orik and Hvedra was obviously an affectionate couple. They brushed noses and smiled softly at each other, their hands brushing on the table. Hvedra was an intelligent woman, the female dwarf being in charge of everything in absence of her husband and managing it all. Eragon felt his own heart stray to the elf next to him as he saw them so obviously in love.

  
A loud explosion in the sky, followed shortly by another, interrupted his thoughts before they could continue in that direction. He looked up, alarmed, to see colourful explosions fill the dark sky. Awed, he watched the sparks of green, blue and red form erupt outwards like exploding stars.

  
“Ah, the fireworks!” Orik exclaimed. Eragon was still transfixed by the sight, as another firework exploded in blue sparks, this time hovering for a moment, before it transformed into the image of a dragon and shot across the expanse of the night sky. The dragon flew for a few moments, before it dissolved into sparks again. The dwarves cheered and Eragon felt the same. This was beyond everything he’d seen before. His magic was directed at warfare. He could kill a human being with a thought, could heal a broken bone, could set a whole battalion aflame... but this was for the amusement of the crowds, for nothing but idle amusement. It was beautiful.

  
The night ended after the impressive spectacle, Orik telling them to meet in the morning to discuss more serious things and to enjoy the rest of the night if they wanted to explore some more.

  
Eragon was actually tired, his eyelids threatening to fall shut with every step he took back to their assigned quarters. Vanir seemed to be slightly more awake. If it wasn’t for the elf, Eragon would have never found the way there. The hallways all seemed to be made from the same red stone and the ornamental flameless lanterns were the only fixtures.

  
Their room was holding a single closet, a table with two high backed chairs made from dark wood, probably from the trees growing up here in the mountains, two beds clearly made for humans or elves, since they were the right size but only just. Eragon was just glad to get to sleep in an actual bed again and sank into the cushions with a sigh. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed this simple luxury.

  
Vanir took the other and for a moment everything was silent. Outside the high arching windows the city was shining bright, the tiny dots of lanterns and forge fires trying to rival the stars with their intensity so close. Eragon was tired, but he couldn’t find sleep. The bed was too comfortable, too soft, and he was alone.  
It was stupid, but he actually missed having Vanir close while he slept. They hadn’t talked about the bath house, or the kiss by the lake. Eragon had been afraid to ask and then it had been that they were bot too tired.

  
Eragon shoved the pillow aside in frustration, as his mind was plagued with uncertainty. He turned around and glanced over to the motionless form of the elf. His hair was loose and he could see it flowing over the pillow, since the elf had his back turned to him. After their bath, Vanir had woven his small braids back in, re-using his small assortment of feathers. He’d done it with the same careful deliberation as always. Eragon hadn’t been able to stop staring at those hands, his mind already picturing other situations where these nimble fingers were put to work. Once he’d gotten a taste of what intimacy with the elf would entail, he couldn’t get it to shut up it seemed.

  
Careful not to make a sound and disturb the elf, he stood up, walking over and stopping as doubt crept into his mind. He had no idea if this would be okay. His whole situation with the elf was overly complicated now, since their first kiss at the Tüdosten. What were they, he wondered, and what was it that Vanir would want from him?

  
They were bonded and clearly Vanir must feel something for him too. It was the uncertainty, the anxious thought of ‘what if I’m wrong? What if he is only attracted to me because we’re stuck with each other?’ that made him freeze and think things over and over. 

  
Eragon craved their close proximity though, and in the end he touched the elf’s shoulder. Vanir’s golden gaze met his and one eyebrow wandered up his forehead in question.

  
“I couldn’t sleep.” Eragon admitted in a whisper. Suddenly, he found it sound stupid. Of course it was different, now that Vanir wasn’t cold and Eragon and him had actual beds to sleep in.

  
Vanir didn’t say anything, but shuffled to the side to make room on the small bed. Eragon breathed out slowly in relief and to calm down his nerves.  
Eragon lay down on the bed, feeling the tense muscles in his back loosen as he did so. His wings hung over the edge and he furled one over them from habit. The empty feeling from before was absent and he felt sleep embrace him again, now that he knew he wasn’t alone. He was already asleep when the elf held him in an embrace, warm lips pressing a kiss against his hair.

**~*~**

  
Eragon saddled Snowfire, the white horse searching his pockets for a treat and nipping at his clothes when it found nothing. He gave a playful shove, not wanting the slobber all over his fresh tunic. “Come on, you had your breakfast!”

  
Vanir chuckled from where he waited with Shiva, the mare chewing on the bridle. He didn’t roll his eyes, patting Snowfire on the neck after securing the bridle. Snowfire rubbed his nose affectionately against him, and he scratched his ear fondly. His strength helped him not to be bowled over by the affectionate horse.

They joined Orik and six of his dwarves in the courtyard, their sturdy ponies small in comparison to Eragon’s imperial bred horse. Orik greeted them both, before his attention flew to Hvedra. The female dwarf gave him something, murmuring words in the dwarven language to him that Eragon had problems to understand. He tried not to listen in, since it seemed to be private.

  
Orik laid his forehead against hers, and then he gave her one last goodbye. He mounted his pony, took the reins from a stable boy and gave the signal. They rode along the Thardur, following the mountain pass on its left hand side to a plateau shrouded in a thick fog. You could barely see a metre wide before everything blended into the same white and grey.

  
“Welcome to the stone forest, Eragon.” Orik said and made a sweeping gesture to the fog. Eragon frowned. “I’m sorry to tell you Orik, but there is no forest-“he broke off, and looked closely at the grey spots in the fog. The morning sun was burning through it and revealing what Eragon hadn’t seen before. There were pillars of stone, no; it looked like trees made of stone, reaching upwards. He gasped. He could feel it as he stretched his senses out and round him. They were alive. It was different to how he could hear the trees in Ellesméra whisper and take, because the trees here were muted not as vibrant, but the felt old, like the oldest trees in Du Veldenvarden.

  
“How can this be possible?” Vanir asked. He sounded like he had made the same conclusion. Orik was happy to explain.

  
“We don’t know. Some say, it was the work of Guntera. Grimstborith Hvalmar discovered the forest and ordered his stoneworkers to free the trees, but soon concluded that the Thardur had hundreds of trees like this. It’s now meant for young unruly dwarfs as punishment to free one of the trees from the stone. As a boy of 43 years, I had to spend my time here. After getting a single branch from the stone, I ran away to join the Vrenshrrgn.”  
“The clan of warrior wolfs? What did Hrothgar say?”

  
“Oh, he was angry. I think. I thought I could hunt a Nagran all by myself, as an apology gift. The dwarfs had to get me and the Nagran down from a tree, because its horns threw me several feet. Hrothghar forgave me in the end, and found it was enough punishment for me to be bedridden for four weeks.”

  
“You miss him.”

  
Orik sighed. “He was my king first, but also a father.”

  
They trekked along the mountain side, the ponies sure in their steps, but Snowfire and Shiva held pace and were sure footed on the terrain. He patted the stallions flank as he leaned slightly forward in their ascend. The horse had been there since him and Brom and left Carvahall.

  
The fresh air made him shiver, his breath coming out in a white cloud. He tightened the shawl around his throat, wishing to have his cloak. If he didn’t want to ruin it to make his wings fit, he would need to find a solution. The wings weren’t adding much weight to him, but they were going above his head and down to his feet. Sitting atop Snowfire, they came to the stallion’s belly to the right and left side each.

  
He should be glad to have at least a higher tolerance against the harsh cold than if he were still human. His tunic and jacket were made of thick woven whoolcloth, but the icy winds would have killed a human over time.

  
They rode for three hours. Then they stopped by a slab of stone, the markings well-hidden until Farr, one of the dwarven guards, activated a mechanism and the stone opened to let their group step into a long dark tunnel leading into the mountain. Everyone got their flameless lantern out of their saddle bags and they closed the entrance behind them again. In the glow of their lanterns they resumed their journey.

  
The tunnel was high enough for the dwarves atop their ponies, but Eragon and Vanir had to walk beside their horses. The tunnel smelled of wet earth and now the sweat of horses. Their hooves made a clip clop sound on the stone path and it echoed around them. They continued through the tunnel, Eragon already missing the open skies.

* * *

(1) vanyali - dwarven word for elf


	11. Change of Pace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry, had to work on this for longer than I thought. Also started another WIP. Like I have time to do another fic, yeah, I'm an idiot.
> 
> I have plans for later chapters, so wait for it! I wrote the first 3k of this in a rush of dredged up memory from the book, then researched some stuff, then got the idea for the rest of this. I can't look at it anymore. So, enjoy the rare pair that is Vanir x Eragon. My two disaster gays. I love them.

** CHAPTER 11 – CHANGE OF PACE  
**

**RORAN**

Roran would worry about his cousin leaving so soon again, but his training in the Varden military made it impossible to linger on those thoughts for long. He had no talent with a sword, to his own frustration. At least he was soon allowed to change to hammers. These were still different from his own hammer, which he’d taken from Horst’s smithy. These were tools made for war. Those could kill a man with a single blow.

It was a gruelling routine he found himself in, waking up at the crack of dawn, answering to an elder soldier who held the rank of someone above a lowly recruit – Roran hadn’t yet learned all ranks.

Bringing them to their limits in endurance, speed, and strength, the man was strict but not cruel. After a week of what the man called training, Roran felt the difference. He could run longer, could swing the enormous hammer with more control over it than before.

The second week continued much the same.

As he fell into his bed, Katrina was there to knead the tension out of his sore muscles. She was his much-needed support in this. They’d no time to themselves lately, and he felt bad for abandoning her to go to war. She deserved a better fiancé.

Time continued in this fashion; his spirit dampened with the lack of time for her.

A month after Eragon’s departure, he was told to pack for he was to join captain Eldric and his men. They were headed for a convoy of supplies; their spies had spotted between Melian and Feinster. The order was to attack the envoy, kill the soldiers and get the payload. Straightforward and the kind of mission Roran had expected to be sent on. He had no idea what kind of commanding officer Eldric would be. The man had been walking around the camp, watching the recruits a few days ago. Maybe he had asked for Roran specifically?

Leaving Katrina behind would never be easier, he thought as he kissed her. She drew him in, her hands clinging to his tunic with a desperation she was trying not to show, but he knew her. She was afraid he wouldn’t return.

Roran slowly opened his eyes again, his gaze lingering on her clean hair and sad eyes, the small tears cascading down her cheeks. He squeezed her hands, reassuring her that he would. He would be back, and he would promise her this. Every time, he would tell her, because she deserved better than him. Her eyes lingered on him, as he marched through the rows of tents.

Eldric was a tall man with an imposing statue, his thick blond moustache making him look grim. Beside him stood a man with a scar spanning his left cheek and crooking his lips into a perpetual grimace. Roran went over to the two and reported to Eldric. The captain’s voice was deep and commanding as he told him to help their magician around for now. Roran bowed his head and followed the order.

Their group was about two dozen men, all experienced warriors. The small count of fresh recruits were talented and exceptional men who’d held the captain’s interest over the last week for their skill. Carn was an older man with greying hair and a gentle aura. His gaze turned to Roran when the younger man neared him. He was saddling a grey mare, the horse patiently waiting for him to finish his task.

Carn had no discernible accent, his vowels a fluent quality, that Roran thought was probably a quality of using magic. You had to correctly say the spell for it to work.

The man was not the only one. Carn introduced him to the second magician in their group.

Leanan was still in his prime. His voice was heavy with a coastal accent, which came from him growing up in Kuasta. Leanan was an odd but easy person to listen to and along with Carn, Roran found himself spending the time preparing for their departure swapping stories. Leanan had lost family members to the empire, while Carn simply had no choice but to flee the small village he’d lived in after his magic had caused him to be noticed. Carn was reserved about his past, but Leanan spoke his mind freely and without hesitation.

The man would make a comment about everything, from the way one of their formation had been obviously snuck around at night to probably see their lover, to the scratchiness of his socks. A bit like Eragon, back in Carvahall. His cousin had been unstoppable once he’d gotten a question. More like a hundred, and mostly about the stories of their storyteller.

Roran grinned as Leanan made another comment on how his Ma would never allow today’s watery soup to be consumed. He followed his display with a dramatical gagging noise. Roran laughed. Even Carn was snickering behind his hand. They stopped before they could be reprimanded by Eldric, when it seemed the group would move out.

They left the safety of camp on horseback, their moderate group heading towards Melian. Roran pondered over the nervous feeling that befell him suddenly. This wasn’t his first battle, but he still couldn’t help the slight shake in his hands. He gripped the reigns tight in his hands, head held just a degree higher as he looked ahead.

**VANIR**

The air was fresh, and it brought the scent of the frigid ice covering the mountain tops with it. Vanir shouldn’t feel surprised, but he was. His long life had been spent seldomly exploring outside the forests. The clean-cut stone and rough shapes of cast shadows made him feel outcast in between the dwarves who seemed completely at home.

The city was inside the hollowed dome of the highest mountain, but it was like a separate world altogether. Lantern light instead of sun light, and hard unforgiving stone instead of soft grass. The high ceiling and the enormous gates to the city brought the illusion of space, although it only fuelled the claustrophobic feeling in him.

Vanir itched to return to the outside, no matter how beautiful the minerals inside the walls shone, no matter how curious he was to explore a culture completely different to his own. For maybe the first time since following Eragon from Ellesmèra, he felt a need to return to the elven city. It wasn’t his birth place, for he belonged to a part of the forest long forgotten by the humans, so long tried to be erased from history that even their own people would need some time to recall who they were.

Vanir didn’t ever forget though. The madness of a king who had brought destruction and the cries of the people who’d perished in the inferno. No, Vanir would never forget, and he’d once believed to never forgive.

Their procession was travelling through the mountain on horseback still, the paths inside the city of stone clear cut and leading to the centre of Tronjheim. The elf took in the symmetrical architecture, along the different clan symbols carved into the stone. He wondered if these people felt as connected to their stone as he felt to his trees.

*****

A week was gone in a blink of an eye, and the council was in session to elect a new king. The elf tapped his foot, as he stood outside in the great hallway before the council chambers, like he had done every day. His thoughts were filled with the green of his home, missing the scent of grass and wildflowers. He’d never not been surrounded by nature. Tronjheim was all stone and glittering minerals, the glowing moss and algae along the deeper tunnels just as alien to him.

The doors groaned and the sound reverberated along the walls and ground.

His gaze flew to the towering double winged doors, spewing out the dwarven council. Their colourful robes were in rich deep colours, the gold and bronze stitching weighing heavy and depicting their clans. Beards were prominent on both genders, and he saw most clan heads wear intricate helmets, more of a show of rank than battle gear. The small procession of dwarfs vanished and split to march into different directions.

The elf though didn’t care for the dwarfs. He was looking for the person standing out by being the tallest around them, his pointed ears and fine features in contrast to the sturdy-built mountain folk. His eyes caught the elf’s gaze and he changed direction to embrace Vanir, sagging tiredly against him.

For a moment he held onto the former dragon rider, inhaling the scent of musty stone and smoke that clung to him from sitting inside a closed chamber inside a mountain for hours, the underlying scent that was purely Eragon making his heart sing. He may have missed the forest, the scent of rain and damp grass, but holding the other in his arms made the homesickness vanish and he could breathe again.

“If I must listen to the Dûrgrimst Ragni discuss trade routes along the Beor mountains one more time, I swear! Ûndin will be a very unlucky dwarf.”, Eragon muttered into the elf’s neck.

Vanir understood the indlvarn. He knew these decisions took time for good reasons, but that didn’t mean Eragon was cut out to be a politician, or a patient listener to these talks. It could be Eragon’s human origin speaking, but Vanir had an inkling this was more of a character trait than age.

“It’s not just something that will affect them now. These decisions will be in place for the unforeseeable future, meaning over a hundred years at least. They would want to get advantages for their clans where they can.”

Eragon sighed. “I know.”

He let go of the elf. Vanir mourned the loss of contact, as he often did these days. He couldn’t say when it had started to become favourable to hold the former rider in his arms, just that he could not imagine how he’d lived without. Eragon had become a central part in his life. The indlvarn was often brash and quick to act before thinking things through, but he was also curious about the world, asking questions. Eragon could act mature and scarily intelligent sometimes, and then there were moments where the elf was reminded, the other had only lived for less than two decades.

Vanir tried to differentiate, because in years it sounded alarmingly young to him. Elves matured later, after all. Humans aged so quickly.

He’d never seen a human older than thirty before. Older humans had clear signs of their age marring their skin, which had fascinated him at first arriving at the Varden.

In a way, he was glad now about Saphira’s choice. Had she chosen differently, he wouldn’t have met Eragon and the man would have lived his life as a farm boy, until he married a woman and continued the family line like it was expected. He would have gotten old and grey, until one day his body gave out and he died surrounded by grandchildren.

Human lives were short, and unlike elves, they could die of old age.

Eragon’s words brought him out of his reverie. “Should I find it disturbing that you’re imagining me all old and wrinkly?” Vanir saw his amusement, and knew it was meant lightly. The rider was tired from today.

“I find myself glad to have you by my side.”, he admitted. Eragon turned away. His face took on a rose-coloured blush, that did nothing to make him less handsome in Vanir’s eyes.

“Strange, right? How we can be friends, after everything…”

“Just friends?” he asked, wishing to be right in what their bond told him, but not trying to assume…

It was at once easy to admit affection for each other and difficult to talk about it. Vanir was fine with it always staying like this, moments of nearness, of affection shared between them. They had been unwillingly tied together, by something out of their control. They’d blamed each other, until they’d finally come to their senses and tried to make it work.

It was so many things that had changed their fate, made it take an unexpected turn, but Vanir felt no regret following it to this point.

“I don’t know. This confuses me, the way I feel around you… it’s like I can’t stop myself sometimes.” Eragon said. His voice spoke of uncertainty, but also a fragile hope that he wasn’t alone in feeling this way.

Vanir swept his gaze around the hall. They were alone, and he dared to brush the other’s lips in a stolen kiss. There hadn’t been anything happening between them that went further than that, kissing and sharing comfort by innocent touching the other.

Orik had surprised the former dragon rider by giving them one single room in Tronjheim. The bed was big enough and clearly meant for two. The dwarf was smart, he’d clearly figured something out, but not deemed it important to mention the topic. He probably waited for Eragon to tell him, as his clan brother.

Eragon returned the kiss now, his lips ghosting over Vanir’s, dancing in a by now already familiar rhythm. They parted too soon, knowing this wasn’t the ideal place for this.

“More than friends?” he asked cheekily. Eragon swatted him over the head, which made Vanir laugh. It was probably deserved, but it was still fun to tease the other a bit. Their bond betrayed Eragon, shining bright with mirth.

“You’re unbelievable. I don’t know why I even like you.” He said, but his hand entwined with Vanir’s a second later. The warmth of his skin was reaching directly into his heart and Vanir felt it speed up. He hid his smile by looking to the opposite side.

They slowly started wandering back to the main city, where the dwarfs held their kitchens and served food for everyone to come to the main hall. Vanir and Eragon both got a plate with grilled mushrooms, steamed carrots and kale, and the grainy bread the dwarves from Tronjheim served to every meal. The vegetables were all grown here, since they were very resistant to the cold climate that reigned here in the mountain. The water had a strong mineral tang to it, but it was clear and refreshing.

Vanir watched the other patrons, their beards making up half their face and styled with obvious effort. Some had shiny pearls of stone in them, mostly seen in those from the Ingeitum clan who wanted to display their ability in mining rich minerals. A quartet of what he assumed to be female dwarves had their beards and long hair in difficult braided patterns with pieces of dyed string in it. They wore their style proudly, and Vanir admired the obvious signs of clan affiliation.

His own braids held feathers of barn owls, a bird of prey – the sign of a warrior among his people.

Orik came around during their meal, wanting to speak to Eragon about the proceedings. He couldn’t offer them much information, besides, it already going swiftly with the war in mind. Eragon wasn’t happy to hear this, muttering expletives under his breath about Grimstborith Ûndin that Vanir was glad to realize were in the old language, thus flying over the dwarf’s head. It wouldn’t do to anger a clan head, not if they were already on a strained relationship with the dwarves. Orik and his clan were the only ones who’d taken them in with open arms. The rest was polite and partly meeting them with reverence. Eragon’s actions as a rider had opened him certain doors, but also made him an enemy to the clans who’d suffered from the previous dragon riders’ downfall.

Vanir was regarded with the same mixed feelings. He was an elf and even if nobody knew where he hailed from, the fact was dwarves and elves held no love for each other. The dwarves held onto their deities and beliefs, like ivy clinging to a wall. If it were open knowledge that even elves thought him cursed for his past, the dwarves would boot him from their mountain no questions asked.

For now, he listened to Orik, who told them to go with one of his guards, Kvîstor, to visit the great library of Tronjheim. At that he felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline. He’d heard of the library, of course.

Eragon was obviously in the dark before Orik had mentioned it because he excitedly stood up, his wings scraping along the ceiling, and demanding to know where this library was. How big was it? Why hadn’t he heard of it the last time he’d been here?

Orik stopped the half dragon from spewing out more questions.

“I offer you to visit it now, Eragon, since it’s a place not many get the privilege to visit anymore. Not since…ah, our people had to retreat into the mountains. Kvîstor will bring you there. Tell the librarian that I sent you and he will let you enter.”

Eragon nodded, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Some scrolls spoke of a place filled with knowledge, the library was like a treasure of old and near forgotten books, tomes as old as the ages. It was a great privilege indeed that Orik gave them. Maybe there were even some written records of dragon riders. Galbatorix had burned every written record in Ilirea from the golden age.

Kvîstor led them to the library, an unassuming building at first. The stone was carved with different patterns and faded scripture, the entrance a high reaching double winged door, like every other building around here. Vanir tried not to be disappointed at the sight.

They entered, Kvîstor stopping outside and promising them to wait until they were ready to return to their assigned guest quarters.

Vanir’s breath was taken away by the sight that was before him. What the outside had hidden was obvious now. Rows upon rows of books, from small journals to heavy tomes, with scrolls neatly stashed in between, the pure reverence to the written word was astounding. Next to him, Eragon seemed just as speechless.

“Can I help you...?” a timid voice breached the silence. Vanir looked slightly down to see a dwarf in brown robes, the lack of any clan affiliation what got his attention. It was the first dwarf who didn’t proudly state who their clan was.

His mind didn’t even entertain the notion that he could be from no clan at all.

He also wore metal framed magnifying glasses, the thin circular pieces making his eyes seem bigger than they were. He was slightly bowed walking, as he approached them.

“Grimstborith Orik sent us. You’re the librarian?” Eragon, despite his lack of finesse for the political spiel, could be excellent in remembering titles. His use of the dwarven tongue was better than Vanir’s, the vowels like crushing stones between your teeth giving the elf problems because of the difference to his own native tongue which was a flowing river in comparison.

“Yes, yes. That would be me - you say, Orik sent you? Of course. He did mention something about visitors…”

The dwarf who was revealed to be the librarian turned on his heel with a follow me gesture, leading them between the stacks of books, deeper into the library.

“The library was founded long ago, by a dwarf named Kwela. Kwela saw knowledge as the key to power, which isn’t exactly wrong…well, he did die from malnourishment - he wouldn’t abandon his post reading the legends of-- “

Vanir listened to the mutterings of the dwarf, his thoughts drifting as he took in the sights. He could understand how you could lose yourself in this place.

“You can stay for however long you want - not however long, of course. Take your time - though I have to close sometime around eight…”

Eragon thanked the dwarf, his grasp on the language pleasing the librarian and he trotted away leaving them alone.

Eragon turned to the elf, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. “Where do you want to look first?”

**ERAGON**

The talks were long and arduous, and Eragon wanted to strangle Vermûnd, clan leader of the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. The bastard was not only thinly veiling his insults in his arguments, he was also outright xenophobic, his quips about Orik’s friendship with elves getting more provocative every time. If it hadn’t threatened Orik’s chances at the throne, Eragon would have told the dwarf his opinion then and there.

Instead, he had to make do with staring a hole into Grimstborith Vermûnd’s head.

Whatever the Grimstborith tried, his methods to get the others on his side were without much success. At the end of the week, he had only two of the Grimstborith siding with him, having stepped on the toes of the other ones just as much with his aggressive negotiations.

Eragon hid his smile as the final election took place and Orik won. They had been worried about some clan heads, but they hadn’t needed to after Vermûnd had lost his most devoted follower by insulting them for speaking up in their opinion.

Most days, the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin had held back, but not now that Orik had fairly won. Grimstborith Vermûnd seethed with barely veiled disgust, glaring at Eragon.

“We will not stand for this. Our clan has no allegiance to a traitor to our people.” He practically spat and left. His dramatic departure was followed by silence, before Orik spoke to shatter the uncomfortable feeling that had settled over the assembled clan leaders.

After Orik held a small speech to thank the other leaders for their allegiance and how he would lead them all to a new era of continued prosperity and hopefully to a future without Galbatorix a shadow over them all he took the half dragon aside.

“We may have won the battle today, Eragon, but from Vermûnd’s reaction I would say we may have made ourselves some enemies.”

“I didn’t notice, what tipped you off?” Eragon snarked, tiredly rubbing his temples to stave off a headache.

“Let’s not lower our guards now. A ceremony is planned for tomorrow. The decision is not changeable now, and nobody would dare an assassination attempt in fear of angering Gûntera himself. The wrath of the gods is not something you risk having on you. So, if they want to act, they’ll do it differently.”

“Orik, with less riddles please.”

“I’m less of a target because of my position, than you or someone else right now. What I’m trying to say is, you shouldn’t walk around without a guard.”

“Wouldn’t that tip them off that we know?”

“They’re going to assume we know anyway.” Orik grimly stated.

Eragon couldn’t stop Orik from ordering a security detail to follow Eragon around. The dwarven guards were at least inconspicuous, to make would be assassins slightly less careful in their attempts.

Orik had also tasked Kvîstor again with the duty of showing them around the still unexplored parts of Tronjheim who were mostly inhabited by the Ingeitum. So, it wasn’t all bad.

Vanir had wanted to return to the library, his own interest in the books shining through.

Eragon roamed the halls and long hallways on his own, needing some alone time after another long session of political talk. He’d sent Kvîstor with the elf, assuring him he was as safe as could be with the guards looming around. They’d parted at a crossing intersection in the hallways, Eragon going deeper into the mountain to explore, his guards following his every step.

Cold air drifted through the tunnel systems, refreshing after being in a stuffy chamber with the dwarven clan heads. His shoulders lost the remaining tension from before, as he walked along even paths. The texture of the stone under his shoes became rough the farther he went.

Before, he’d passed dwarves in the Ingeitum colours and signs. They’d gotten less as he’d unconsciously chosen a more secluded path.

The dwarves passing him now were clad in non-descript robes. Their eyes quickly avoided his own and he got a feeling of dread as they continued their way. The hallway came to an end, the dim light of the flameless lanterns casting shadows on the stone.

It was in the shadows that he saw the blade going for his throat. Eragon ducked and was only saved by his fast reflexes. The blade of a small sword hit the wall, nearly decapacitating him.

His wings were flat against his back to move in the closed space. His nails extended to claws without his conscious thought. Turning around, he saw his attacker swing the sword again. He evaded the weapon aimed at his middle by stepping left and back. More dwarves had drawn their weapons and were backing him in against the dead end. Their formation told him; this was a planned attack.

Orik had been right about them going after him.

Eragon let his wings rise into a threatening pose. It worked in a way, some of the dwarves seeming to hesitate. He used the moment to act, his claws digging into the throat of the dwarf with the blade. His own sword would be useless in the small space, the one-handed blade more a hindrance than help. Blood splashed onto his clothes and face. The dwarf fell to the ground with a gurgle, blood welling up from his mouth as he twitched before he went still.

A dwarf with a curved blade tried to stab at his wings, Eragon seeing it and quickly taking the dead dwarf’s blade to intercept the swing at his vulnerable membrane. The dwarves were now all crowding in, trying to overwhelm him with their greater numbers. He clenched his teeth and snarled – the sound animalistic, inhuman. Stabbing another dwarf through the stomach and another one through the chest, he saw his guards were engaged in close combat with the assassins. They were making quick work of them, but he saw one sack to the ground after a shoulder stab from the curved blades.

Poison, he thought with panic as he saw the guard twitch with white foam forming around his mouth. He hadn’t been hit yet, so he took care not to change that now. Another attacker met his end at the stolen blade.

In all the commotion, the blast surprised everyone.

His hearing picked up the change in the air, before it happened, and he instinctively closed his wings around himself when just a moment later, a large blast shook the hallway.

It was loud enough to be heard from here to Bregan and stone fell from the ceiling. The unprepared assassins were caught in the explosion, their magical shields too weak to protect them against the heat. His own magical shields strained under the onslaught.

Then it was over. Eragon looked up from behind his wings. His ears rang in the silence, the lack of sound after it just seemed unreal. Twelve charred dwarves laid in the blackened hallway. None moved. He checked for a sign of life to make sure but found none. His guards had been met by the same fate their forms barely distinguishable from the attackers. He looked down in regret for the loss of life.

To the side, he saw the glass splinters of a lamp. It must have been what led to the explosion. One of the corpses lay beside it. His shock was forever frozen on his charred flesh. Maybe he’d recognized his mistake the moment he’d shattered the lamp, knowing it was already too late.

*****

“Barzul!”, Orik said. “Barzul!”

And he started ranting in the dwarven togue while pacing back and forth in front of his desk. Eragon watched him, waiting for his friend and clan brother to calm down. It was difficult not to react in the same way. The assassination had been an hour ago. So much else had happened since then.

After finding and telling Orik about it, the dwarf had acted immediately. He’d ordered the corpses to be searched for any sign of who had been behind the attack, but they found nothing. Their only lead were the poisoned blades, but the blacksmith who made them was widely known for his talent in weapon crafting, so his clientele was spanning a broad percentage of the dwarven population.

It got worse, then. Eragon had been feeling unsteady after his battle in the tunnels against the assassins, but he hadn’t known why, not until Kvîstor entered the study, blood streaming down his face from a head wound.

Vanir had been taken.

Eragon felt the air leave his lungs at the words, the dwarf sinking to the ground like he had no strength left in his body after bringing them the news. Meanwhile Eragon searched for that link in his mind, that connection that was nowadays always there-

It was silent, and as he tried to find out where Vanir was, he seemed to reach into nothing. Nausea rose in him, his knees like jelly. Eragon knew his wings were spread out and scratching the walls, his agitation manifesting physically in the way he’d bared his fangs and his eyes were a fiery blue.

Orik let out a string of words that sounded like cursing. “They planned ahead. It would have made no sense to kidnap him if you were dead. Whoever is responsible for this knew that an assassination was probably going to fail.”, he said.

His expression was dark, his eyebrows drawn and eyes staring at the stone plate of the table. Eragon willed his wings to fold against his back, the dried blood beneath his nails less visible now than when he’d showed up with red dripping claws. His eyes were still bright with unnatural glow and his wings shifted restlessly, the helplessness of not being able to do anything making him wish to burn something. Preferably Vermûnd, that bastard. It had to be him. He’d outright threatened Eragon, his clan provoking a blood feud with the ex-rider when he’d crossed through their city.

Orik sighed. He kicked the table in frustration. “Planning this far ahead... they are smart and that makes them dangerous. It must be the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, but we can’t prove it, nor do we know. Who attacked you, Kvîstor? Could you see them?”

The dwarf shook his head, his expression one of shame. “They were dressed in dark robes, attacking us the moment we stepped outside the library. I was knocked out and thought dead. They had taken elf Vanir by the time I woke up.”, he told them.

“That’s unfortunate. Thank you for notifying us Kvîstor, you can go now. Let someone see to your head wound.”

The dwarf bowed and left. Orik went to the papers littering his desk. He kicked it once, letting out his frustrations on the old wood. An expensive material, the imported piece of furniture shuddering beneath the onslaught as Orik kicked it again for good measure.

“Isn’t there a way to find them faster?” Eragon asked, his mind trying to come up with a plan, but failing. He couldn’t go to the clan head of the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin and threaten him to tell them where the elf was. Orik had to think about the peace between the Varden and the dwarves. They were bound in their actions by the responsibilities they had. Despite Eragon wishing it were different.

“Many dwarves aren’t happy about the elves, our long history with them complicated and filled with conflict. You’re equally as much feared as you’re revered by my people, Eragon. We’re working as fast as we can.”

Eragon knew the dwarf was right, but he wasn’t happy about it. Again he tried to find Vanir with his mind, this time not just searching their bond, but seeing every life inside Tronjheim. He stretched his consciousness to the borders of the enormous city, into every tunnel above and under it. Nothing.


	12. Bring the Pain, Let it Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I sat on this chapter for so long again, because... real life and stuff.
> 
> The chapter itself was damn hard to write and I had to cut it some, so you'll get most of what I trimmed in the next chapter. This is the last of the dwarven chapters from book canon too, so we'll move on to Elesméra by chapter 13!!!
> 
> I can't wait to show you what I have in mind for that. Please look for the new tags, I don't know if it's in need of trigger warning, but there is torture described in this chapter.  
Also, I had a beta reader for this chapter, thank you Woody-chan for reading this first I know it was still a bit of a mess back then!
> 
> Enjoy, everyone!

**Chapter 12**

**BRING THE PAIN, LET IT BURN**

**Eragon**

It had been two hours and twenty-five minutes. Since then, Vanir had been unreachable, like the elf had vanished from the face of the earth. Eragon paced the office and growled from deep in his throat. His human body should not be able to make this sound, a fact he didn’t care about right now. He let out another inhuman growl and glared at the floor with flashing eyes.

The door opened, his eyes snapping to the dwarf. The Grimstborith had left to speak to his magic users investigating the scene. Seeing if there was anyone who could tell them about the incident. Orik cleared his throat. “My men have found and questioned witnesses of the abduction. The attackers subdued Vanir and took off in direction of the tunnels leading to the old structure underneath Tronjheim. They’re pursuing this new lead right as we speak.”

Hope blossomed in his chest, his heart that was heavy with worry beating faster at the thought that he could catch the people who’d taken Vanir from him. A voice inside him was telling him to catch up to them, so he could tear these attackers apart, because Vanir was his.

Another part of himself was shocked at the dark path his mind took. He locked the bloodthirsty thoughts away and busied his mind with the dwarf’s words.

“There’s a city beneath the city?” he asked.

Orik nodded, then he shrugged. “It’s from the time we built Tronjheim, and before that even. I can’t tell you much more than that since we abandoned the project long ago. Now it’s home to exiled dwarves and clan less knurlan. Many are following strange customs, and they avoid us above as much as we avoid them down there.”

“It’s perfect to hide someone.”

“Yes, but whoever they are don’t know that Kvîstor is from there. His mother married clan less and prefers to reside there, so she would know if someone brought an elf to the old structures.”

The guard who’d alarmed them of the kidnapping, Eragon remembered his name. He’d barely spoken to him, and from his clothes he’d looked like any other clan member. He slowly nodded, the plan taking shape in his mind. Orik had his men searching for the elf already.

“Could I speak to her?” he asked, which was met by a drawn eyebrow and a hum of contemplation.

“I don’t want you to walk into the line of fire, but I fear I won’t be able to stop you.” Orik said. Eragon had to admit, his clan brother knew him well after all this time. “Would you stay here if I ordered you to?”

“No,” Eragon said, “I couldn’t. He means much to me, Orik. I hope you understand.”

The dwarven king nodded, his eyes bright with sympathy, a sad smile visible beneath the beard. They hadn’t spoken about Eragon’s relationship yet, but Eragon hadn’t made a secret out of it. Being attracted to a man wasn’t something that you could openly speak about. At least not in a small village like Carvahall. His cousin was surprisingly accepting of it – or maybe not so surprising since he would have eloped with Katrina if it had come to that, so convention was not something Roran strictly followed. Would Garrow have accepted him? Eragon hadn’t spent much thought on this, but he liked to think that his uncle would have come around. They’d always been the odd family living outside the village. Garrow could have remarried after their aunt had died, but he had only ever loved his first wife. Their uncle had believed in marrying for love, so maybe he would have at least understood that.

The elves were completely different, their views sometimes alien to him. Vanir hadn’t had a problem to be bonded to a man. He wondered how the dwarves viewed relationships, since he’d only ever seen Orik with his wife Hvedra. They’d been incredibly open in their affection, but he’d not seen any other couple.

As if Orik had read his thoughts he now said, “I understand. As is my duty as husband to Hvedra, it is your duty to Vanir to save him.”

Eragon blushed, his own upbringing making it hard to talk about this. “I love him. I don’t know if I should, but I do.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Your heart decides to love a prickly elf, who should tell you that you shouldn’t. Guntera gave us hearts to love each other, not stones.”

The words made it easier to breathe. They were spoken with conviction that Eragon seemed to need to speak further. “I grew up being expected to find a wife, like my cousin. Roran would have inherited the farm, so I was probably going to get an apprenticeship somewhere, before settling down too.”

He sighed; arms crossed as he leaned against the desk. “I know I loved Arya. It’s just that these feelings were less and less over time after she repeatedly shut me down. And since then I found myself falling for another. It’s crazy.”

“It’s possible and completely natural to be able to find both genders attractive Eragon.” Orik said. His voice lacked any judgement, which made Eragon believe him. The indlvarn slowly stood, one hand tangling between short strands of hair.

“Thank you. I feared you would hate me for, you know.”

“I would never. You should have more faith in me.”

“Yeah.” He looked down before he fixated on the double doors to Orik’s study. He had to find Kvîstor’s mother, find out if she knew anything. Maybe then he would be one step further in finding Vanir.

*

The darkness was somehow deeper beneath the city where the elven flameless lamps didn’t brighten the way. Instead the air was smelling of damp earth and stone, the path before him visible and casting shadows by his magical orb of light. Orik had warned him of the chance that some of these dwarves down here were hostile to outsiders, some even driven mad over time. Eragon had assured him he would stay alert and left in search of the dwarf. Kvîstor was only a step behind, navigating through the maze of tunnels with familiarity. His mother lived in what was a village of stone buildings, the structures inhabited by clan less knurlan who followed less popular views on religious themes. Orik had called these dwarves deep-dwellers, for they lived deep in the mountain. Eragon hadn’t heard of the term before.

She had been from the Ingeitum clan and met one of the dwarves from here, sacrificed her old life and moved into the deeper parts of the mountain. Despite cutting all ties, the clan had taken Kvîstor in after he’d wished to become a warrior.

Eragon saw the strategic advantages of this, after all, they’d been warned of the attack led by Durza too from a dwarf not affiliated with a clan.

Their walk came to an end before a small hut. The stones were rough and small religious symbols etched over the door. Kvîstor entered, followed by Eragon who had to duck. Down here, the lodgings were more to dwarven size than anywhere in Tronjheim. It was less grand focus on art and beauty, and more of practicality in its structures. A bit like Ellesmèra, the buildings grew out of the stone, and were part of the surroundings.

Kvîstor spoke in dwarvish with his mother, a woman with signs of aging on her face and a motherly aura. She was garbed in thick cloth with mineral dust at the hem and her bare arms were surrounded by colourful stone pearls on string. They clinked every time she moved.

Her house was holding practical things, like a stove and a bed behind a curtained off area, a table with a single stool, and a wash basin. Then, there was a shrine devoted to Guntera, with small figurines carved from sandstone that must be other dwarven deities. Eragon wasn’t sure.

The house held no windows, but the interior was lighted by candles. Eragon had distinguished his mage light when they’d reached the village borders and he could see her smile now and embrace Kvîstor. Her voice was rough on the dwarven vowels, Eragon having problems understanding single words.

She greeted him too, and Eragon politely returned the greeting, along a quick sentence thanking her for letting them into her home. Seeing him speak her tongue seemed to please her, quickly chattering in dwarven. He stared at her a bit lost and was saved by his guide taking over, asking her about any occurrences lately.

She frowned in thought and replied something. Kvîstor turned to Eragon. “She saw knurlan from the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin lurking around the tunnels facing west.”

Eragon and Kvîstor thanked her, the dwarf promising to come visit soon, then they left. The west tunnels were further from the way they came, so they trekked along the border of the village structure, and tried to blend in. Eragon saw why they’d needed the dust coloured robes; they were the same as everyone else here.

The Az Sweldn rak Anhûin must be arrogant enough to think they could simply wear their clan robes without standing out. Or maybe they hadn’t expected them to search down here. After all, most clans ignored the exiled and clan-less dwarves who inhabited the tunnel system deeper down.

They were just rounding a corner when Eragon heard footsteps coming their direction. Quickly, he dragged Kvîstor with him into the shadows. With bathed breath he glanced into the direction from where the noise originated. A dwarf with light armour patrolled the area before them. His clan symbol over the shoulder guard showed the sign of a tear. Eragon felt his earlier suspicions confirmed. It was the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin.

Eragon and Kvîstor didn’t want to alert the guard, so they backtracked, and through another passage they continued. Kvîstor was knowledgeable in the hidden passages and the other clan was not. They had guards everywhere, but only stationed at the main passages. They used this advantage to creep through the small, hidden tunnels. Eragon had to draw in his wings to get through. They still scraped at the stone on all sides.

Finally, they came to a heavily guarded building, the dark stone lit with the light of flameless lanterns. The dwarves stationed before the entrance were carrying battle-axes and swords, to fight in the cave like space. They also wore clan marked armour, unlike the assassins from before. If it wasn’t clear before that Vermûnd didn’t fear to be discovered, Eragon thought, then it was now.

Twelve dwarves. He counted only two battle axes; the rest carried swords. The blades were curved, probably the same poisonous ones.

Lurking in the shadows, they planned their approach.

*

*

*

**Vanir**

Vanir woke up with a headache and startling silence inside his mind. His movement was restricted, because as he tried to lift himself up from the cold ground harsh rope bit into his wrists. His shoulders ached from the position he was in with his arms behind his back. The side he had lain on was bruised.

He couldn’t see, which made him panic at first. Taking a deep breath of stale air, he discovered that he was somewhere inside, the smell of earth and stone indicating that he was still inside Farthen Dur. Or another mountain. He hoped he wasn’t unconscious for long, for his capturers to take him far away. He needed to calm down. The cloth covering his eyes was what hindered his sight. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. Had he been drugged?

Vanir tried to struggle against his bonds, discovering that they were holding fast. _Faica umbar_, he thought. By the stars, how had he gotten into this situation?!

His mind was still nothing but a vast emptiness where his bond should be. He grew anxious, but soon discovered that it was still there. He just couldn’t reach it or feel it. Already he felt exhausted just from searching for the connection.

The elf sighed. He had been attacked the moment he’d stepped outside the library, drugged, and kidnapped. Eragon would never forgive him if he were used as a hostage.

Where was Eragon? Had he been taken too? Were they held separately? Or, his mind supplied him with a darker possibility, this wasn’t planned. Maybe they’d killed Eragon and Vanir was just the safeguard in case it went wrong. A plan B.

*

Time was hard to measure in complete darkness, with nothing but your own thoughts for company. But it must have been long enough for someone to bring water. Vanir was not freed from his bonds, the dwarves talking in their language like grinding rock. Two held him in place, the third one bringing a cup to his lips and Vanir was forced to drink the water which tasted bitter. They had drugged the water. He was backhanded for spitting it out and forced to drink it all. He tried to kick the dwarf and from the sound of pain he must have hit somewhere. The dwarf spit angry expletives in his tongue, gripping Vanir by his hair ungently and shaking him. Vanir didn’t understand what was said obviously. The dwarf let him go, and Vanir fell back to the ground with the other guards no longer holding him in their tight grip. The ground scraped against his knees.

They left again. He was alone in the darkness. Time ticked away slowly. Vanir tried to stay alert, but whatever had been in the water made him drowsy and he succumbed to restless slumber. His dreams were disjointed images, a world created from his memories and re-imagined in fantasies that he couldn’t remember upon waking.

The guards were back, and they were in a dark mood. He sensed the restlessness coming from them, the fear. They were like cornered animals and it made them dangerous for him. Bound and drugged, he was at their mercy.

The two dwarves made him kneel this time, their grip unrelenting on his shoulders and arms.

Cold metal was pressed against his flesh and white-hot pain lanced through him as it caved a path through his flesh. Vanir shied away from the pain - his mind was awash with agony. The slow drag of the blade, the feeling of his skin parting and blood flowing out. He couldn’t escape. Everything was a clear memory through the pain. They didn’t interrogate him. They were silent. It made him much more aware of what was done to him.

Vanir had no sense of time anymore, but he remembered them breaking the bones in his fingers. It had hurt beyond what he’d believed a break could hurt, because they’d used magic to burn the flesh afterwards. He didn’t want to know what his hands looked like now. The stench of it had him vomit and the smell of sick added to the stench inside.

His captors had been carving into him with that blade for a while now and it didn’t seem like they would stop anytime soon. The cold sharp pain of it was nothing new, and with his throbbing hands, he didn’t even flinch anymore.

The blade stopped, and Vanir heard them murmur around him, then they left him. His body sagged to the ground despite it aggravating his wounds. He let out a whimper, the first sound he allowed to escape his lips. He’d only once made a sound when they’d broken and burned his hands. Then he’d screamed.

The ground was cold, and he shivered. His mind was muddled from the pain, Vanir barely noticing when he slipped into unconsciousness. He dreamed.

_Blood dripped down the stone, red splashes of colour. The scent of iron in the air, the pain that wasn’t his but felt like it was. His fangs were visible when he curled his lips in a snarl. He growled, and his eyes flashed to the trembling dwarf held in his grasp. They should fear him, he thought._

_Like the rats they were. They should pay for their crimes!_

_The dwarf let out a squeak as he was hurtled against a wall, the nauseating noise of bones breaking followed by a howl of pain. Whimpering, the dwarf huddled against the wall watched on as the indlvarn let loose. He would later remember it with clarity, the way his brothers had been slaughtered without mercy._

_Wings, blue and stained at the tip with blood, looming above the heads of the ones responsible for this. They were casting a shadow over everything, underlining the ferocity of the beast bringing their end. Who had they thought they were? This was the end. They’d misjudged. Arrogant in their ignorance, their lack of understanding of the predator that was a dragon. They’d seen the tamed and civilized bonded dragons, the riders with their companions. Even Shruikan had been more of a tale, the evil in a story, the evil that existed in an impersonal way. _

_This was real, and the flames licking at the form of the man shaped being seemed the material from their nightmares. The screams echoed off the stone walls, followed by silence._

*

Vanir woke up to a hand stroking his head, his eyelashes fluttering open and met with the dim lantern light. For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming and the sight of a worried Eragon was simply wishful thinking. His hands reminded him that he was very much awake.

“Eragon?” his voice was weak, and he coughed. The bit of water he’d been given hadn’t been enough, his throat was parched.

Eragon’s eyes shimmered blue in the darkness and his skin was licked by flames that didn’t seem to harm him. His fingertips were wicked claws, but Eragon was careful when he used them to lift Vanir from the ground. Vanir hissed at the pain still. Eragon apologized, whispering words in the ancient languages. The cuts stopped bleeding, the skin sealing back together. With another spell, the threat of infection was erased too.

They moved out of the room where Vanir had been held prisoner. Vanir was exhausted, not noticing where they went, but he trusted Eragon. At some point, he recognized the room they were in as the quarters assigned to them in Tronjheim.

Eragon laid him carefully on the bed and sat next to him on the bed. His hands had transformed back and were now inspecting the damage done to Vanir’s hands. Vanir hadn’t been able to see it before because of the blindfold, but he could now see the red burned flesh, the blistered skin and the bruising where the bones were broken and shifted out of alignment. His hands had tripled in size and looked nothing like hands anymore. He felt sick at seeing the damage done to him.

“It will need time, but I can heal them.” Eragon spoke. “It’s not even going to scar. Not like the cuts from my claws. I can heal your hands, Vanir.”

Vanir felt numb and didn’t answer. Eragon didn’t wait for one, he simply began his healing. The magic washed over his limbs and settled at his hands, taking care of the burns, re-growing flesh. The swelling was forced down, the bones moved back to their place where they should be. He felt detached from it all, not feeling the pain anymore, but also not able to feel anything below the wrist as the magic took care of the damage.

It took hours to repair his hands. Eragon had circles beneath his eyes afterwards, and his hands shook as he took Vanir’s hand in his, now completely healed. Vanir had feeling in them again. He moved the finger joints with ease, testing his movement ability. Flawless, like nothing had happened at all. IT was all just a memory now.

They still hadn’t left it behind them, he could see the haunted look in Eragon’s eyes when he looked up. Their bond was still empty of thought. Only feelings drifted through. Vanir felt relief, anger, sadness. Then there was love, and joy at having him back, that he was safe. He returned these with his own happiness to be reunited with the man and stayed in the mental embrace if his exhausted state allowed him.

“The Az Sweldn rak Anhûin planned to either kill me or make me kill for them. They took you as a hostage, because they knew they could use you to make me kill Orik.”

Vanir wasn’t surprised. The clan had been threatening Eragon with a blood feud, but their leader wasn’t stupid.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Eragon had mentioned a planned assassination, which must have failed if he was here.

Eragon squeezed his hand which would have been painful hours ago. “I should be asking you. They won’t try this again. I made them pay for hurting you.” He said darkly.

Vanir was too tired to ask, and he had a suspicion that his dream wasn’t just a dream. Better he stayed ignorant for once.

Eragon then lay down beside him, taking the elf into his arms.

“Orik will need me to be thee for the trial. We found enough evidence for the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin to be exiled until they will elect a new clan leader. I told Orik, I can’t promise not to rip Vermûnd to pieces if he says anything, but he insisted I had to be there.”

Vanir made a sound signalling he was listening. He was tired and his body wasn’t hurting anymore. Eragon was here, holding him, and the drugs finally wore off, their bond unfurling and humming between them again.

Vanir drifted into sleep.

*

*

*

**Roran**

The air was heavy with the promise of rain. Signs he’d long learned to recognize, before as a gift because it meant their crops would flourish. Now, the rain meant mud and wet clothes, hard travel conditions and the high chances of illness.

His boots clung to the damp soil as he spied down on the road, the slow crawl of the imperial convoy still the size of ants. They were too far away to sight the rebels up on the hillside, hiding between the brush. Eldric had ordered them to spread out and hide for now. Their position was to their advantage, they would attack the moment they had the convoy in direct sight on the road below.

Roran smiled. He felt nervous energy spread through his body, the anticipation of a fight.

He couldn’t wait.

*

Their attack was preceded by the lack of bird calls around them, and the utter silence safe the trot of horseshoes on caked dirt. The arrows hit first, a handful of archers shooting their deadly projectiles at the unsuspecting men. The surprised shouts of the imperials mingled with the cries of the now advancing Varden, whose weapons were threateningly swung in the air and glinting in the dying light of dawn.

Roran who was with the advancing group let himself be caught up in the sense of battle around him. He struck a man with his hammer, the soldier falling to the ground with his pike clattering to the ground. His wrist cradled to his chest, broken. Roran dealt another blow, to the helmet. It shattered the man’s skull, because he dropped to the ground, not moving.

Then the imperials were retaliation, the shock having worn off. Varden and imperials fought, with the rebels lashing in a quick but deadly strike, like a viper tooth snake. Roran found himself battling another man, the outcome much the same. Then he was nearly speared from the side as another attacker tried to catch him off guard, but a quick shield spell from Cairn prevented any serious wounds.

And then, the fight was over, as quick as it had begun.

Roran looked around, saw the grim but victorious grins on the other’s faces. Eldric was climbing on top of the payload, a carriage with weapons and resources. His second in command was going around, ordering the corpses to be stacked and burnt. There was no burial to be held for the imperials. Roran wasn’t sure how to think about that. They were the enemy, but they too must have families who would mourn them.

He sighed and got to work.

*

*

*

**Eragon**

_Lady Nasuada,_

_The relations with our allies, the dwarves, will be continued with our shared friend, king Orik. Much has happened since; king Orik had to banish the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin for their treacherous plans against his reign in peace with the other races of Alagaësia._

_I hope this letter reaches you in good health, and I regret not informing you of this the usual way. My magic is unfortunately drained, and I am taking a detour to Du Veldenvarden for further study with my mentor. I’ll try to make haste. The next time I’m locked into battle with Murtagh, the victory will be ours._

_Regards,_

_Eragon_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe some of you have noticed, but I have actually no idea how homosexuality and other genders are viewed in Alagaesia. Paolini gives us nothing, safe the homoerotic subtext sometimes and that one scene where Roran licks dirt with erotic thoughts...
> 
> So I decided elves would be the most open about expression of gender and sexuality, dwarves would be a bit like Orik and say it is Guntera who gave them love, so monogamous relationships between male/male and female/female wouldn't be rare.  
Humans would be a bit difficult, with close minded villages, where tradition is simply strong on one opinion, but that also doesn't have to be the norm and people like Roran and Katrina will be supportive of Eragon's relationship.
> 
> Thank you for reading. See you for the next chapter!


	13. Interlude: Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the forest we go. Fluff. So much fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write much more, so wait for chapter 14 where I'll hopefully get everything I'd planned for this chapter written down. 
> 
> Enjoy the fluff. These boys simply ran off to be cute together, I swear..
> 
> Leave a comment and kudos for me, they feed my soul^^

**CHAPTER 13 – INTERLUDE; SPEAKING ABOUT ORIGINS**

**ERAGON**

After Vanir was healed from his ordeal, they gathered their bags and bid the newly crowned Orik their goodbyes. Eragon had hastily penned a letter to Nasuada, his magic reserves depleted after healing Vanir’s hands. It had been worth the small tirade about being an idiot for exhausting himself. Eragon had smiled at the huffing elf, settled beside him in their bed, and kissed him to shut him up before he could start another rant about Eragon’s useless self-sacrificing ways.

Kissing Vanir was a very effective way to get the elf to shut up while gifting the other with an adorable expression. Eragon liked kissing Vanir, it was as easy as breathing now after he'd realized how quick it could be taken from him. Their first kiss after he'd had the elf back had been a peck on the lips, soft like a feather. Their second one had spoken of the relief he'd felt to have him back, the fear at seeing Vanir lying on the ground with blood coating him. It would haunt him in the nightmares to come, making him cling to the elf's tunic and pressing his lips to his brow, his nose, his cheek, and finally again to his lips.

Being back on the road was refreshing and did a lot to calm Eragon’s nerves. He didn’t want to admit it yet, how shaken he’d been about the kidnapping and murder attempt from the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. It was lucky he’d found Vanir as fast as he had. It could have been so much worse. The mere thought brought him back to clenching his fists, flame trickling up his throat in anger. He’d been out of control, the realization of what he’d done without care of the lives he snuffed out, it made him shudder. They had deserved it, surely. Eragon hoped he would never lose control like this again.

Snowfire and Shiva had been enthusiastic to breathe the fresh air outside the mountains, and despite the exhausting and long travel, had their noses held high by the time they reached Elesméra. Eragon used the time to fly, at Vanir’s urging after days spent hovering around the elf. He knew he hadn’t been subtle, so it was a matter of time until the elf had enough and forcefully shoved him away, telling him to use his wings and scout ahead. Eragon had wanted to complain. At a look from the elf, glaring at him and daring him to say something, he’d wisely shut up.

His flying had improved by the time they reached the elven city. The exercise also helped him clear his thoughts which had been a bundle of anxious energy lately. They often strayed to the memory of Vanir’s hands, bruised, mangled, broken. How Vanir had flinched when he’d carefully touched them. It made him want to hold Vanir in his arms, and never let go - shield him with his wings from the world.

Snowfire stood still when he dismounted from the saddle, the white steed’s breath visible in the air. Elesméra was filled only with the sound of nocturnal birds in the trees, the elves all retired to their homes to escape the frigid air. An elf in dark green robes greeted them. He introduced himself first in a sign of respect towards the dragon rider as lord Fiolr, excusing queen Izlandadi's absence. Eragon nodded, and gave a polite acknowledgement, with an excuse for arriving in the middle of the night. Vanir stood leaning tiredly against Shiva, the mare sniffing the elf’s side for treats. His gold coloured eyes were gleaming through his half-lidded stare and lord Fiolr shifted his stance while glancing over to the other elf. Eragon wondered why the elf lord seemed obviously uncomfortable. His mind flashed back to the words from Bloedgharm and his expression darkened. He hadn't seen it last time he was here, but he hoped not everyone was as superstitious. Maybe he would ask Oromis about 'calathan'.

“Your travel must have been long and tiring. You’ll have to excuse us, for lack of preparing your usual lodgings, argetlam.” Lord Fiolr said. He led them to the tree house Eragon had been staying in during his last visit. “If you wish, I’ll organize for somebody to bring you breakfast in the morning.”

Eragon thanked him for the offer and at last they were left alone. Lord Fiolr gave a subtle bow to Eragon and despite being uncomfortable he bowed to Vanir too. Vanir gave a tired sigh. They relieved the horses of their bags and Eragon patted Snowfire’s flank after he’d also taken off the saddle and bridle. The stallion gave him a shove with its head before it followed Shiva to start grassing. Eragon shook his head with a smile, amused. The equipment was stored away until they would need it again. Inside the tree house, Eragon tiredly stretched his muscles. A yawn escaped him and was echoed by the other.

“We should sleep.” Vanir said.

A particularly good idea, Eragon thought, the best he’d heard all day. He disrobed his heavy outer clothes, unlacing his boots, before the indlvarn crawled beneath the covers. Vanir joined him soon after, slinging one arm over Eragon, the other tucked under his head. They were facing each other in the darkness.

In the silence, Eragon could hear their heartbeats. Their breathing disturbed the air, and the rhythmic sound should have lulled him to sleep.

“Stop thinking so loud…” Vanir mumbled. Right, Eragon thought embarrassed. Their bond was a flowing river, and Eragon could literally feel how the elf was already half asleep. Eragon must have projected his thoughts again.

His left wing extended to cover the other like a blue blanket, as Eragon laid his head snug against Vanir’s chest. The warmth emanating from the indlvarn made Vanir snuggle closer. He couldn’t pinpoint when he succumbed to sleep, the peaceful moment allowing his mind to drift without really thinking in actual words and finding rest somewhere along the line.

He must have fallen asleep during the night, because when he woke, the sunlight filtering in through the large dragon entry was indicating a new day had begun. Eragon rubbed his eyes from sleep, not yet feeling any desire to leave the warmth of his bed, or the extremely attractive elf at his side.

Vanir lay still asleep, his breath tickling the strand of hair that had fallen into his face probably from turning around in the night, and the whole dishelved state of his hair made him look adorable. Vanir was normally taking care to gather the owl feathers he had braided into his hair every morning, before he went to sleep, so they wouldn’t be crooked or bent. He would be annoyed when he noticed that he’d forgotten it last night. The way his hair escaped the intricate braids at weird angles was adorable. Eragon decided to tell him after breakfast if Vanir hadn’t until then noticed the state of his hair. They could find new ones together, although Eragon still wasn’t sure if there was a rule to which feathers would be acceptable. He’d seen Vanir collect some during their travel, but it was only from owls, falcons, and once a dark red bird of prey from the Beor mountains that Eragon didn’t know the name of, but had been beautiful when Vanir had worn the feather as a prominent piece in his long ebony hair.

Now he traced the sleeping form with his eyes, the sharp cheekbones and pale skin, the inky strands of his hair and the gentle sweep of dark lashes. The rumbling purr that rose in his chest was quickly stamped down before it could wake the elf.

Eragon wanted to preserve this moment, hold it close to his heart and freeze it in time.

They didn’t have many moments where they could just be, and Eragon would need to go to Oromis, to his mentor, for the reason why they were here. So, in full knowledge of their limited time, he dipped down and kissed the sleeping beauty slumbering peacefully beside him. Vanir's lips were soft and pliant beneath his. He felt the elf respond, and slowly withdrew to watch honey colored eyes open. Vanir’s eyes were still glazed with the haze of sleep, his lips drawing attention by their kiss bitten state. Eragon kissed him again, which the elf returned readily. Eragon closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation, enveloped in the other’s natural scent and the comfort brought by waking up in a cocoon of blankets on a cold day.

“You have morning breath,” Vanir murmured as they separated. Eragon raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t seem to mind when we were kissing just now.”

Vanir answered with a peck to his cheek. Still drowsy from sleep, he wasn’t starting to argue, his mindscape showing small specks of amusement, love, and if rolling your eyes in exasperation could be felt, it was what Eragon got from his look into the elf’s mind.

“Now I mind. Where’s breakfast, I’m starving.” Vanir said. As if on cue, Eragon’s stomach gave a growl.

*

They found a tray with still warm baked pastries, fresh berries and other breakfast foods on the table in the adjacent room, covered in a clean sheet of cloth. Eragon went and did his morning routine, coming back to see Vanir use magic to heat up water for some herbal tea. Lord Fiolr had included tea leaves.

Back in fresh clothes, they enjoyed their breakfast after a week of mostly the same mix of nuts, berries and bread. Eragon bit into one of the pastries, discovering their fruity filling. He moaned around the bite. It was just bread baked into a flaky, honey sweetened pastry with the same fruit he’d eaten before, but right now it was like heaven on earth.

Vanir chuckled, eating his own pastry a bit slower. His hair was combed back, and loosely framed his face without the braids holding it back. Eragon had sadly given away the state the other's hair had been in by letting it slip how cute a sleepy Vanir was. The elf had blushed his ears aflame and shoving a pillow at the indlvarn when Eragon couldn't help it and started chuckling. 

Their kisses during breakfast tasted like the fruity filling in the pastry he'd eaten.

*

*

*

Oromis waited for him at the entrance to his hut. A table was set for two, steaming hot soup and fresh baked bread on it.

The wise dragon rider greeted him. His face gave no hint to what his thoughts were.

Eragon nervously went through the elven greeting. His tongue slipped up and formed the words for  _ nolwantaë (wisdom giver),  _ eliciting a curiously lifted brow from his mentor.

"I see you learned of the old elven tongue. It has been years since I last heard it, but your pronunciation needs no correction."

"Vanir has been a good teacher. Although he's not very patient." Eragon said.

Oromis chuckled. "I guess not. Enough, let's sit down to continue this talk. You must be hungry from your long trip."

They sat down. Eragon tasted the soup, a vegetable broth with fresh spices and herbs making it savoury. the bread added thickness to it when he let it soak up some of the broth.

"The dwarves must have elected a king already for you to be here."

Eragon swallowed the spoonful of soup. "They did. Orik is going to support the Varden further in the war."

Oromis nodded, dunking a piece of the bread into the broth. "These are good news. I wish we had more time for you to learn everything, especially now."

His eyes pierced Eragon with a stare, as he asked. "Why did it happen? Saphira was your responsibility as she was your dragon. Her life relies on your survival as her rider and you failed in that aspect. So, I ask again: why couldn't you protect her?"

The words were what Eragon had expected from the beginning. He'd dreaded this discussion ever since waking and no matter how unsurprising it was to hear them the words managed to pierce through his defences to his innermost core where he felt them cut up his heart into little tiny pieces.

He hung his head in shame. Oromis was sighing and leaning back, meal forgotten.

"Maybe it's unfair of me to blame you like this. I'm old and foolish. I've been no better than everyone else who's put their expectations on you."

Eragon gripped the fabric of his pants over his thighs as he shook with his guilt for failing his mentor. Failing his dragon. Was this what Galbatorix had gone through? The guilt and anguish of losing your other half.

It didn't excuse his actions afterwards. But it lent a bit of perspective.

"I couldn't beat him. The red rider who serves Galbatorix...it's Murtagh. And he's my brother. I couldn't kill him, and I would have died for it, but Saphira saved me at the cost of her own life."

Oromis nodded, like he expected it to be something like this.

"...Oromis  _ elda, _ since then I've changed in ways that still confuse me."

He looked to his mentor hopeful for an explanation for what he'd gone through the last two months.

"A dragon rider who loses their dragon is always in some way broken, because of the traumatic aspect of the separation. Most don't survive it or live on for long. Some like Galbatorix go mad. The much rarer outcome is an indlvarn. I told you before if a dragon dies their soul can live on along within their rider. Normally it would mean they would only die in body. This is not what happened to you. Saphira had no time to save herself, but she must have done it subconsciously for a great part of her soul to stay with you. It would be an echo of her, like a ghost, which you would be able to hear still."

He hummed in contemplation.

"Still, such complete changes like yours are rare indeed. Most affected show scales and slitted eyes and enhanced senses. Maybe it's because a dragon soul without that dragon's consciousness is simply too big for a human body to house it. It would explain why indlvarn are seldom successfully created."

Oromis seemed finished with his elaboration on indlvarn history and they both finished their meal. Afterwards Eragon helped him carry the utensils back into the hut where Oromis got a covered slate he took back outside.

He gave the wrapped slate to Eragin who slowly revealed a fairith. It was of a woman with dark hair in a beautiful garden. Her gaze was focused on the flowers and she had a smile on her lips and softening her face. Eragon gasped when he recognized the line of her brows and the strong nose. Was this…

"Brom made this fairith of your mother, when he was a spy at Morzan's court for the Varden. You should have it. I think Brom would agree, he'd been her friend before she'd vanished one night."

Eragon nodded, words failing him. He'd never had the chance to know his mother. Finally knowing what she had looked like, it was a gift he hadn't thought possible.

The old rider gave him time to wrap the fairith carefully back in the cloth, before Eragon decided on his next question. He didn't know if it was right to ask Oromis this, but he had to know. 

"Who was Morzan as a dragon rider? Before he helped Galbatorix?" Eragon asked. He waited for Oromis to answer his question. 

Ever since Murtagh had revealed them being brothers he'd thought about it. There was also the fear that he could become like Morzan and hurt those he loved. Murtagh's father - their father - had thrown his sword at his sin in a bout of rage. 

Eragon knew it wasn't the same as him attacking Vanir in a disoriented state. The scars in the elf's arms which would never fully vanish, were something he regretted though and vowed never to let happen again. It could have been Roran, who was only human and could have easily lost his hand entirely. Inly their shared pain over the bond had thrown Eragon back into reality.

"He was my student." Oromis said.

"What?!"

Oromis sighed and folded his hands behind his back.

"Morzan was a bright but ambitious young man. He and Brom became my students with Brom starstruck by the other young and especially talented rider. Morzan was prideful and climbing the ranks of the order, which was only hindered by his inexperience in years. I know that he had compassion, something he hid well from others because he had the misfortune of always making the wrong decisions for it. In the end it was what made him follow Galbatorix. He was the only one who was moved by the other's plight and who would go through with stealing a dragon hatchling."

"Brom must have known. He never told me…" Eragon said bitterly. All these years the man had lived in Carvahall and he'd never said anything.

"Brom was a spy for the Varden when he infiltrated Morzan's home as a gardener…"

Eragon listened as Oromis told him stories of Brom's friendship with Selena who'd been a feared assassin called the Black Hand, but had left in the dark of night. She'd returned, to die from grievous wounds. Eragon's birth had stayed a secret from her husband, so Morzan had never known of his second son.

*

*

*

Eragon returned that first day emotionally exhausted. He had scrolls with historical depictions of battles and magical strategies to read and knew he wouldn't find much sleep the next few days.

Vanir greeted him at the feet of the tree house, intertwining their hands and kissing Eragon in the lips. The indlvarn let him, soaking up the affection freely bestowed upon him like a sponge. He didn't know what it was that made it easy to be open with his love for the elf. Vanir certainly was all for it. The elf never stepped over the invisible boundary still existing between them, always giving what Eragin would allow, but stopping before it could lead to more. And Eragon was chagrined to realize, he wouldn't mind if for once, these hands would wander below his waist, or if he could mark that delicious looking skin with his teeth and make the elf gasp and writhe in pleasure.

A cough brought him out of his thoughts. Right. Slightly awkward they looked at each other. He quickly flew up to the dragon entrance and used it as a shortcut to their rooms to put down the scrolls.

He could hear Vanir's laugh over their link at the same time hearing it outside, both sounds resonating like it held an echo.

He flushed red and flew back down. Eragon angled his wings slightly, altering his flight path so he could ambush Vanir from above. The elf squawked as he was toppling over from the sudden weight of the half dragon and they rolled around in the grass like teenagers. Eragon being victorious, sat on the elf and grinned down. He laughed and bent down to kiss him, carefree. Even if this peace they experienced in Elesméra wasn't forever, he cherished these moments where he could forget about his responsibilities. In that moment there was just Eragon and Vanir.

*

*

* 

Rhunon uncovered the swords. One was a sapphire blue while the other shimmered bright like a cloudless sky.

"These are Brisingr and Vaeta. Fire and hope. I made them long ago for someone else, but I think they're perfect for you."

"Thank you Rhunon _ -elda. _ " Vanir said. Eragon looked at the swords. The tell-tale tinge of colour told him these were rider blades.

"Who were they intended for?" He asked curiously. She clucked her tongue at him at that.

"Do you want them or not? Then stop asking unnecessary questions. I can't make another blade like these, but you're lucky I remembered holding onto some blades which were never given to their riders after Galbatorix started his crusade."

They took the swords. Eragon held Brisingr in his right hand, the hilt wrapped in dyed leather and long enough to make fighting two handed possible. It felt warm in his hand, like the sword possessed an inner flame. The blade itself was slimmer than Zar'roc. It would support a more elegant style of fighting than the red blade. Eragon was glad, since he's needed to adapt to smaller blades ever since losing the red blade to Murtagh.

Vanir took the other blade reverently, not sure if it was alright to do so. He was no dragon rider.

"Vaeta. Hope. A strange name for a weapon made to kill."

Runon scoffed. "It's a sword I forged in more peaceful times and I was young. Foolish, too. You can give it back if you don't want it."

Vanir quickly put the blade back in its scabbard and held it protectively fearing the very real threat of the blacksmith.

"Thought so. I'll take my leave. Don't worry about paying me back! Give that mad king what he deserves and it will be payment enough."

She left them and Eragon stared after the elven blacksmith until she was out of sight. Runon was straightforward and direct but she obviously meant well. Her gift had been out of nowhere and it was worth more than Eragon would habe been able to pay in gold or riches. That she only wanted him to succeed… Eragin felt like he was taking advantage of her kindness somehow, but knew she would have been affronted if he'd tried to pay her back in some way.

*

*

*

Vanir asked Eragon to accompany him to a place outside Elesméra. They walked until greeted with light from the flameless lanterns, colourful bands hanging from bridges that seemed to hover in the air. The tree houses were adorned with wind chimes and small glass orbs giving off light strung on vines.

The whole atmosphere was light-hearted.

Vanir smiled as he faced Eragon and entwined their hands. "Welcome to my home."

The elves of calath, as Eragon soon knew, were not so different from the elves in Elesméra. They were a bit brighter in their warm-hearted greetings of Vanir, a bit more cautious of Eragon, a bit more demure as they talked with him.

Vanir hadn't spoken much if his family, or gis origin and Eragon hadn't asked. At first because they were practically strangers forced together. Then because it seemed like it wasn't a topic he could simply ask for the elf to share. There had been so much else going on around them, they hadn't exactly found the time to speak about their pasts.

He hoped with Vanir showing him around the elven settlement, he would also finally learn more about his partner.

The elves seemed elated about Vanir's return. An elf with silver hair braided down her back and raven feathers in it was approaching them.

_ "Vanir arquen," _ she began.  _ "Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn. Gi suilon." _

_ "Gi suilon, Shillandra. Peditham hi sui vellyn?" _

The she elf, Shillandra, smiled.  _ "Náto, hîr vuin." _

"Can you find Endellion for me? Tell her I'm at home."

Shillandra nodded and wandered off. They walked to the east of the tree house village where stairs grew from the bark of a tall pine. Eragon followed the elf upwards. The tree was connected to others via the bridges which crossed over each other at different heights. In contrast to Elesméra, this village reached upwards seemingly less concerned with blending in completely. It still held every other aspect of an elven settlement.

The indlvarn stepped inside an elegant but cosy living space.

_ Feel free to look around, I don't mind.  _ Vanir said and moved to drop his quiver with arrows and his bow somewhere where it wouldn't be a hindrance.

Eragon stayed a moment longer where he was before he was courageous enough to explore.

The tree house was one central area with a cooking pot hanging over a dark fire pit, a pantry, some chairs and a table, a colourful rug and a curtained off door leading probably to sleeping quarters. He could spy some stairs behind, so it was to a room above this one.

The windows were inlaid with glass. Eragon could see the other three houses from it, the view holding dreamlike quality from the vibrant spiel of lights and the fragile wind chimes.

"Was it always like this?" He asked. "Because it's beautiful."

Vanir's voice sounded strange, a melancholic quality to it as he answered.

"No… it was breath-taking. You could see the magic in the air, all around you were people crafting crystal lights, and the night was like the stars had come down to earth to dance…"

A knock sounded at the door, shortly before a female version of Vanir seemed to enter. She had long black curls, held back by a leather band. Her braids and feathers were done the same as Vanir's. Eyes as deep as the ocean stared them down.

_ "Vanir! Nátyë necindo, man cárat sinome?",  _ she asked and embraced the elf. Vanir returned the hug.

"I can't come home, once in a while?"

She huffed. "Of course, you can, stupid! I was asking because I heard from Thindarë you've left Du Veldenvarden."

"Endellion that was over two months ago!"

She glared at him. They both seemed to have forgotten the third person in the room.

"And you had no time to tell me about it in person, -"

"I'm sorry."

"...instead Lord Fiolr sends me a note, writing that you've eloped-"

"elope- no! Endellion, what-"

"...with no other but the dragon rider, and you didn't tell your sister?!"

"..."

Eragon shrank back as her stormy gaze wandered to him. She held back her anger at Vanir from her voice, politely greeting him in the elven ways. He surprised her by using the ancient elven Vanir had taught him. Back with Shillandra he hadn't been able to follow their words, but this, he knew.

"Well, you don't seem to have completely lost your mind then, if he knows our ways." She murmured. Eragin thought she was half-right and hoped he wasn't expected to speak only ancient elven while they stayed here.

"How long will you be staying?" She asked in a louder voice.

"Not long, I'm afraid. The Varden expect us back as soon as possible." Vanir said.

" _ Naire. _ Alright, nothing to be done about it. You can take care of dinner since I didn't expect to have guests."

After she left again Vanir let out a breath of air and a groan. "I'm sorry you had to see that. She's normally much more level-headed."

Eragon coughed to hide his laugh. "Roran told me if I hadn't been unconscious at the time, he would have hit me for running away. So, I understand how it is, in a way."

"I wouldn't let him hit you anyway."

"I know."

*


	14. Ghosts of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had like, 7k words of the chapter, then I couldn't make it work together and split it in two. So the first 3k of this will be chapter 14 and the rest will be in chapter 15. I need to edit it so it can be some time again before I update...
> 
> Damn, the pov changes in this one XD

**Chapter 14 - Ghosts of the Past**

**Roran**

When Roran woke up, he blinked into the soft half-light inside their tent, his love’s arms embracing him and her head snuggled into his broad chest. He looked down at her peaceful expression and stroked her silken blond hair with the wonder of knowing that he could. She had nearly been taken from him and so he treasured this moment while his mind calmed from the nightmare that had woken him.

Katrina was looking at him, sleepily. “Roran?”

His lips brushed hers in a light kiss. She was here, on their little cot in a tent with little else in it. Roran would want to give her the world if he could, but this was nice. As long as she was safe and happy, he would be satisfied with what they had.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered against her lips. She stroked his cheek, where his beard stubble was again needing a shave.

“What’s bothering you?” she asked. His eyes glanced aside, so he couldn’t meet her inquiring gaze. She sighed at his stubbornness. “I know I’m not your wife.” he wanted to protest, because what did it matter if they weren’t yet wed? He loved her and she returned his love. If they were back at Carvahall, they would've had the most beautiful wedding with the freshly fallen snow around them when they made their vows in the cold winter air. It had been frustrating sometimes, to remain firm in upholding her honour, but Roran would rather cut off his hand than shame her for being impatient. She deserved courting gifts worthy of a queen, instead of the meagre offerings he could come back to her with.

“You’re my fiancée, and every day I thank the gods for you. I know I’m not the husband you deserve. Your father-”

“Forget my father!” she said harshly, and he fell silent at the bitterness in her words. “He was always seeing my mother when he looked at me, and in his eyes I was this idea of perfection. He would have hated anyone courting me! He can’t get to decide who I want to be with!”

“Katrina.” he said.

“I’m without a family, without a dowry. Roran, many men wouldn’t look twice at me. Still, you saved me, give me meaningful gifts at every opportunity. I feel like I can’t thank you enough, sometimes.”

He held her close, and let himself bathe in her scent of vanilla and wild flower, the soap used to clean their clothes, and the warmth of her soft skin. “Thank you’s are unnecessary between us. I love you, with all my heart.”

She let out a giggle, that sounded concerningly wet, like she was crying. Katrina buried her head in his chest, and startled he felt the wetness of her tears on his night robe.

“Shh..” His hands stroked her back, the slow motion meant for comfort, as he let it wander along her spine. Her thin night robes had been a gift from Elaine, Horst's wife adamant in the younger woman not refusing the set of clothes. Roran saw the way Katrina struggled with being in need of the selflessness of others. He himself hadn't felt ashamed to ask his cousin for help when it had been to save her. His own pride would never be worth her life in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t feel insecure about your love for me. It’s just so hard not to when you’re so nice and considerate.” Katrina said.

He brushed his thumb over her lips, had her look into his eyes to convey his feelings to her. Making her believe his words, when he answered, “You’re beautiful, kind and I can’t think of anyone I would rather have by my side. As long as you’ll have me, Katrina.”

She smiled, her eyes wet with the tears she’d shed previously and he wished for her to always smile like this, with profound happiness. With the other villagers she held herself together and never showed how much she doubted her position in his life, it was a mask that had even fooled him enough to be surprised when she'd broken down into tears. He wanted her to smile like this every day. The first time he'd seen her smile, he'd been in love.

“Always,” she said. “You always have me, Roran.”

  
  


**Arya**

Arya used her fingers to get the tangles out of her dripping hair, the wet locks were always a pain to comb if she didn't take care of it now. Her reflection in the water frowned back at her when she looked down.

She'd been using this spot because it was a bit further to walk and fairly secluded by the trees gathered near the river bank. So it wasn't like she expected the human woman to appear next to her with an air of casualty, like she just met up with elves at river banks everyday. Arya startled, badly. She stared.

The human woman hummed, some tune that sounded like part of a song. She held a basket with dirty clothes in her arms that she sat next to her. Taking a pair of pants out she began to fill a bucket with water and soap and then rapped the article of clothing against the board. She continued to hum. Arya continued to stare.

This was strange.

When nothing else happened and Arya made sure she didn't dream this she observed the woman and rebraided her hair into one long braid. The human was pale, but not unhealthily so. She was a bit thin she thought, and her face held a certain quality to it, like she'd lived through some hard times. It was a look Arya sometimes found in the humans around her, mostly men from the battlefield, but women too.

She also had seen the state shed been in after her own imprisonment.

The woman was blond, a fact that was notable because it never occured in elves, to have hair colored like wheat. The rest was unremarkable, she was still washing her laundry and ignoring the elf.

"What are you humming?" Arya asked, feeling awkward staring at a woman doing her laundry. It would be way more efficient she thought to heat the water beforehand. It would be easier to get out the blood stains. Arya had discovered this, when she had been younger.

The humming stopped. The woman looked up. Her hands stilled, rough from hard work, but different to Arya's sword hands which bore the calluses indicating a warrior life.

"It's something my mother would sing, every time she did the housework. I don't remember the words actually, just the melody." She said and looked down with a peculiar look on her face. 

"My mother uses her voice to grow trees." Arya said, maybe to distract the woman from her thoughts because she looked sad. Arya wasn't sure how she would deal with a distraught human woman.

"She can grow trees? A whole tree, really?"

She sighed. "It's what everyone who has magic learns in a forest, when your home is a tree." It wasn't that special when you thought about it. Not every elf reached mastery in this particular skill, though.

_ The same way I won't ever master the way Vanir could refine his illusions and colourful lights into deadly weaponry. There's a reason some of us fear them. _

The woman hummed in a non committal way, before restarting her work again. They stayed silent for a while which wasn't all too long. Arya had discovered it was easy to talk to the woman.

"Why so far away?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you all the way out here doing laundry? Most women use the spot further upstream. It's nearer to camp."

The woman bit her lip as she contemplated answering. Arya was afraid to have crossed some invisible boundary. She liked talking to another female who didn't seem intimidated in her presence and who was simply a stranger.

There were no expectations set. No political game, no falseness beyond the hesitation you were met with from someone you didn't know.

"I wanted to be alone." The woman finally said and for the first time Arya noticed how young she was really. Around twenty, she thought and remembered human life spans and that twenty was already far into adulthood but still painfully young.

"My fiancé hasn't returned yet from his latest mission you know. I worry for him. And for Eragon...he's Rorans cousin and just as reckless. They always make me worry!" She agitatedly scrubbed at a resistant stain, turning the water murky. Arya let out a chuckle because that seemed like the Eragon she'd come to know, to make others worry about him.

"Eragon can be an idiot. He means well, but he seems to forget about his own safety."she admitted, thinking of the last few weeks. She'd left Elesméra angry at him, and angry at herself, for the way he'd approached her and claiming to love her. She had been so angry, grieving Fäolin, and seeing this boy, who'd been offered everything she could never have. This boy who unknowingly hurt her with his misplaced feelings for her.

Eragon had clearly wanted to apologize. Arya had accepted his words. They hadn't much contact since he'd talked to her. After Saphira had been found dead, and Eragon on the brink of death himself, she had watched from afar, how diligent the calathan elf had taken care if him. Had stitched together the pieces and weathered the storm until Eragon had come back, the lost look in his eyes replaced by a new strength.

She shook her head, listening to the next words Katrina said. The woman was clearly incensed now she had someone to speak to about.

"Exactly! Did you know he ran away and left Roran worrying his head off for weeks before the king sent his men to our village?!"

Arya shook her head, interested to hear more.

"Well, Roran drove them off with the rest of the villagers, but then they attacked and I was kidnapped…"

Arya listened as the woman told her how she was taken by the Ra'zac and incarcerated for weeks until Eragon and his cousin rescued her and brought her to the Varden. Then she talked about her Roran joining the ranks of the Varden and how she hated him being always away these days.

"I may seem ungrateful to you, for not wanting him in danger." Katrina admitted. "Thank you. For listening. Couldn't be very riveting for you."

Arya shook her head with a slight smile. "I don't have many people who would speak to me and tell me of their life's worry like that. I should thank  _ you. _ "

Katrina twirled a lock of her hair, the soap water in her hands probably evading her mind at the moment. She looked down and then back up.

"Well, would you mind meeting again? Speaking to you was actually pretty freeing…"

Arya was surprised. She thought about it. Then she nodded. The sunny smile on Katrina's face made her realize she'd just gained a friend. It wasn't such a bad feeling really.

*

**Eragon | Vanir**

Eragon woke to the smell of breakfast over the fire pit, and with his arms and wings wound around the elf still asleep in his arms. Vanir was a heavy sleeper when he was relaxed enough to actually fall asleep. He had been up with the sun while they were on the road, meditating until Eragon would wake. Eragon himself had tried the elven waking dreams, but it just wasn't the same as sleeping in his opinion. It would have been a nightmare to think he couldn't have slept anymore, and let his mind rest. Even elves used the waking dreams as they called the deepest form of meditation when there was no time for sleep. Vanir loved his sleep as much as he still loved to beat Eragon in a spar. Their old rivalry was in the past, but a spark remained, and they had spent time on their travels to spar again. The way those golden eyes lit up during battle, when they clashed swords, it was exhilerating. Without the hatred and scorn, Vanir was beautiful. Eragon couldn't summon the same frustration he'd harbored before when he lost and was eating dirt. Despite his strength now, Vanir was simply the more experienced fighter.

A presence alerted him that they were not alone anymore. He blinked at the elf hiding an amused giggle behind her hand. Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

Endellion cooed. Eragon was not awake enough to glare at her. He blinked and tried to wrap his mind around the reason she could be here. It was her home he belatedly remembered. His wings had subconsciously risen in a warning not to approach them. She must have noticed it but ignored it in favour of fawning over the sight of her brother and him wrapped in a nest of blankets.

She told him it was time for breakfast and vanished into the main room, letting the curtain separating the rooms fall behind her again.

  
  


*

The small settlement was a peaceful place, the elves here at first appearing with a reserved curiosity that turned to a warm hearted greeting after word must have spread of who the newcomer was. Vanir was always greeted with respect. After another elf stopped in their tracks to bow deeply with a murmur of  _ arquen,  _ Eragon stared at Vanir and said, "Explain."

Vanir sighed. "I don't want to be, but I'm sadly one of the lords of the realm." At Eragon's mystified look he elaborated.

"Du Veldenvarden is too big to manage for one king or queen, so the task gets delegated to the lords and ladies of the court. My family has always held the title of lord, so I was born into the role. They fought against Galbatorix himself, that day."

Eragon understood what wasn't said. Vanir's parents had died, leaving their children with a heavy burden. The indlvarn could imagine how fast they had to grow up.

"What did you do, after..?" Eragon couldn't help but ask. He walked along the visible path and watched the windchimes hanging from balconies and porches, waiting for Vabir to answer. Calath was a colourful place. It was like Elesméra, trying to blend into the forest by growing trees into homes, but not fading into the background. Calath let the light illuminate the settlement by reflecting it through coloured glass pieces and lanterns lit up the night.

"We weren't fighters, not when we were slaughtered by the forsworn like cattle." Vanir said, his hands balled into fists. He was shaking slightly.

"We used light, primarily. Illusions, lanterns, or simply art. Our magic wasn't meant for battle. I was the first--... I weaved new spells, spells to blind a man, to drive one insane with what they saw from my illusions. I used our magic, and I killed these people."

His mind was shielded from Eragon, preventing any of the memories from that time to reach the half-dragon. Some of it came through. Emotions of a burning hatred, a thirst for vengeance. A pain so deep it seemed to claw at one's soul.

Eragon felt like he could understand a bit, from the glimpses he got. Reaching out for the elf, he held him in his arms. They had walked far enough by now to be hidden by the trees' shadow.

Vanir sighed. “I know now that it was stupid, to blame you for what happpened. You’re nothing like the men who burned my home. Never could be.”

Eragon intertwined their hands, and didn't speak. There was no need to.

“I fear this war will show you this side of me again."

The half-dragon shook his head, "I know this isn't you."

"Are we right to start a war? Many will lose their lives, because we did."

“The empire is only advantageous for those with influence in Galbatorix’ court, the wealthy and rich who profit from his reign. There is no real freedom for people like us, for farmers and cabbage merchants.”

Vanir separated slightly from him, enough to have him see how he raised one eyebrow. "Cabbages?", he asked.

"Hush, it was just the first thing I could think of."

Vanir snorted and Eragon felt the tension leave him. It was good to hear the elf laugh.

*

They explored Calath without returning to heavy topics, their steps light. Vanir showed him around, warm golden eyes making Eragon's skin prickle in a good way. His thoughts often strayed to the memory of how it had felt to touch him, and every time he would quickly put up a mental wall to prevent Vanir from noticing when his thoughts went into imagining more. It was embarrassing what he wanted to do to the elf.

So, they kissed. Eragon was coming to like their kisses a lot, and it was accompanied by a lot of wandering hands, and Vanir looking at him with wide blown eyes and stolen breath.

Their time spent together felt like a dream, filled with lessons in Vanir’s own specific culture and hearing more from the elf’s childhood spent in Du Veldenvarden. Soon, the formerly unknown words flowed freely from his lips and Eragon felt accomplished at the smile he got from the other for greeting him in calathán, after learning the phrase over and over for it.

  
  


*

_ His dreams were of flying, vision tinted blue. The smoke from the burning ground was lingering in his nose, sharp and hot like smoldering embers. His wings were strong, beating in a rhythm and he hovered several feet over the ground, which had small human shapes battling against another. Blood tainted the earth red, and his tongue rolled out of his mouth to taste the tang of iron in the air. He let out a growl, and joined the carnage, his claws cleaving through the rows of fighting. _

Eragon awoke, his heart beating with the screams of men still ringing in his ears. The calm night air cooled his head, and brought him back to the present. He breathed deeply, waiting for the ghost of his dream to vanish. It had been confusing and strange.

The thoughts he’d had hadn’t felt like his at all, the way he could recall it with clarity was making it feel like a memory. It was approaching dawn when he fell asleep again.


End file.
